


Smoke and Mirrors

by nanyinai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Humor, Original Character(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2020-07-04 19:03:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 70
Words: 243,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19821325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanyinai/pseuds/nanyinai
Summary: Rane Roth is a young, hot-headed auror with a curious history stationed at Grimmauld Place during the early months of the Order of the Phoenix.  When she meets Sirius Black on the porch in the wee hours of a sleepless night, they set something in motion neither of them could have foreseen.





	1. A Cigarette in the Dark

Rane opened her eyes.

It was dark in Twelve Grimmauld Place . . . well after midnight. There was a brisk, chilly breeze sweeping through the little bedroom she shared with Ginny and Hermione. Through the open window, she could see stars glinting through the orange lamplight from the street below, and the full moon, which had hung pregnantly in the rosy-blue sky the night before, was nowhere to be seen. The room was very cold; she rubbed her bare arms briskly, still frowning at the window. She had shut it the night before, and this wasn‘t the first time she‘d found it cracked open, either. She rather suspected that Kreacher had been doing it just to spite his unwelcome houseguests. The thought of the bad-tempered house elf skulking about their room in the wee hours of the night wasn‘t the most comforting idea, either. Sighing, she swung her legs off the side of the bed, crossed to the window and shut it with a snick.

It hadn’t been the cold that had woken her; rather, Rane thought she’d heard something. It seemed she was the only one roused, however; Hermione and Ginny were both bundled up into cocoons, sleeping soundly. Rane stood at the window a moment longer, a tall lean girl with long dark hair, and considered lying back down. Instead she turned and walked quietly towards the door, taking care not to step on the squeaky bits of floorboard she knew so well. Now that she was up, there would be no falling back to sleep; what sounded good to her right now was a spot of firewhiskey to send her back down.

She opened the door, winced at its low creak, and glanced anxiously back at Ginny and Hermione. Both were still lying perfectly still, dead to the world. She closed the door gently behind her.

The corridor was silent and empty save for the empty sconces on the walls. Somewhere off to her right, she could hear someone - probably Ron - snoring noisily. Not even Crookshanks, who spent most nights racing up and down the hardwood staircases and breaking china, was in evidence tonight.

She pulled her wand from her bed shorts, pointed it into the thick darkness, and murmured, _“Lumos!”_

The hallway lit up with the silvery white glow of her wand, throwing everything into exaggerated contrast. She made her way down the corridor and descended the stairway.

The living room below was as dark as the one above, and very much deserted. Rane stood in the foyer a moment, staring around, nonplussed. It was chilly down here too, and she noticed the barest motion of the air against her bare legs. She looked past the foyer to the patio, where one of the lavish glass doors hung barely ajar. Kreacher might enjoy cracking the occasional window, but she’d never known him to leave doors open, or even to venture outdoors.

_“Nox!”_

She waved her wand, extinguishing the light that shone in the darkness. Walking slowly towards the door, which was almost absurdly ornate and emblazoned with the Black family crest, she peered outside.

There was someone out there, and definitely not a house elf. He was resting on one of the four iron chairs, looking out into the sparse grounds that stretched beyond the back of the house. A candle burned flickeringly on the railing, casting a reddish glow on the edge of the profile. As she watched, the figure lifted a lean arm, took a drag off of what seemed to be a cigarette, and then let the arm fall. A moment later a thin stream of smoke, alight with the candle’s glow, puffed out into the evening clear.

Rane stood where she was a moment, then she slid aside the door and stepped outside. It creaked as it opened, and as she stepped out, her footsteps quietly padding on the wooden deck, the figure shifted.

“Sirius?” said Rane quietly. 

Sirius jumped, turning halfway to the sound of her voice, and made as if to hide the cigarette in his hand. Rane could see the gleaming sparkle of his eyes fixing on her in his surprise.

“Blimey, but you gave me a fright,” he said, laughing shakily. “That you, Rane?” 

“Yeah, it’s me,” said Rane. “I never took you for a smoker.”

Sirius snorted.

“If Remus or Molly sees this I’ll never hear the end of it,“ he said glumly. He glanced at her, took a long draw on it, then offered it to her.

“Give me one of my own and I‘ll keep your filthy secrets, you scoundrel,” Rane said, grinning and drawing one of the iron chairs up beside him. Sirius stared at her for a moment, then chuckled, pulled a pack from his pocket and shaking one out lit it with his wand and handed it to her.

“Is that why you’re out here? Secret cigarette time?”

Sirius shook his head, his chin propped on his fist. “Couldn’t sleep.” He examined the cigarette in his hand a moment, then added, “Just as well, though - I haven’t gotten a moment alone to sneak one in ages.”

They sat in silence for a moment, smoking, listening to the scree of crickets.

“Why are _you_ awake at this hour?” Sirius asked. His voice was low and husky as he stared off into the dark wood beyond the Black property.

“I think I heard you down here,” Rane replied. She hesitated, the cigarette held aloft between her fingers. “Kreacher’s started opening the window in our room again, I think. It was cold as shit when I woke up.”

“Nasty bugger, isn’t he?” Sirius remarked, low. “I’ll have a word with him tomorrow about it.”

Rane waved this off. “Don’t worry about it. Let him have his fun.”

Sirius glanced at her, his smoke held aloft in his hand, and there was a moment, suspended in the cool night air, where they simply regarded each other. Rane stared into Sirius’s face - his unshaven chin, his smooth cheeks, the spill of his dark hair over one shoulder. She could see the quick motions of his eyes marking the details of her face in the gloom.

“Fun, is it?”

“Must be,” said Rane. She hadn’t broken eye contact with him, and suddenly a strange emotion began to fill her from the bottom up. It was a sense that Sirius was… well, handsome. Very handsome. The way the light rode on the ridge of his nose, the crown of his forehead, the irises of his eyes… the flicker of his mouth, parted slightly, showing his white teeth and the dampness of his tongue . . . She wondered suddenly, quite unconsciously, what that tongue would feel like moving along the corner of her mouth, into her inner lip, caressing her gum line . . .

“What?”

Rane blinked, suddenly aware that she’d been staring at him, and averted her eyes at once, uncomfortable. Sirius let his gaze linger a moment longer, then turned his eyes upon the dark wood and took a draft from his smoke.

“Sorry,” said Rane quietly. She smoked, then added, “spaced out.”

Sirius, his voice betraying only the vaguest interest, said, “Oh?”

“I don’t usually gawk at people after midnight. It’s kind of a rule.”

There was a pause, the space of four heartbeats, when their eyes met again. They sat in chairs alongside one another, the wind breathing over them.

“Why should you be sorry for that?” Sirius asked softly.

Unformed thoughts she had never had - strange thoughts rife with a shapeless emotion - filled her mind. She marked the breeze that ruffled his dark hair, the stoic furrow of his brow, the creasing line along one side of his mouth that deepened when he smiled.

“Okay, then I take it back,” Rane said, smirking at him, and just like that the tension was broken. Sirius took a drag from his smoke, a smile touching his own lips. She smoked too, feeling heat rising to her face. Her heart was beating a little more quickly than she thought warranted seated here on the porch.

“Do you ever get lonely?” Rane asked at length. “After everyone’s gone, I mean.”

Sirius rolled his head back on his shoulders, the starlight glinting off his grin. “Absolutely,” he said grimly. “Lonely and bored. You start to go a bit mad when you‘re cooped up here with that bloody house elf for a spell.”

“Have you asked Dumbledore -?”

“’Course I have. He’s dead set against it. I’d take shit shoveling duty if it meant getting out of here once in a while. But . . .” Sirius sighed roughly, scowling. “He thinks it isn’t _safe._ Load of rubbish, if you ask me. Managed to make it a few years out there on my own just fine, in case he‘s forgotten . . .”

He glanced over at her. She sat looking out across the dark wood, her cigarette smoking idly. It was almost cashed.

“How are things with Bill?” he said abruptly.

Rane looked at him, surprised. “What? Bill? What about him?”

Sirius took a slow, calculated drag, ejecting the smoke leisurely, before answering. “Molly seems to think he’s got a bit of a thing for you.”

Rane shook her head. “No.”

“No?”

“No, absolutely not. Not a damn thing there.” She laughed, feeling ungainly. “Not a chance. I‘m sure that‘s just . . . Just Molly being Molly.”

“Well, you know, I see how he’d fancy you,” said Sirius quietly. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

Rane felt her face flush. “Well shit . . . thanks, Sirius.”

“So who’s the lucky bloke, then?”

She sighed. “I‘m married to my work.” She paused reflectively. “The Elves tried a few years ago to marry me off, but I couldn’t have that happening with my career. And anyways, he was a total twat.”

Sirius chuckled. “Well he can‘t have been all bad . . .”

“The Elves are awful,” Rane said defensively, grinning at his amusement. “Boring! So goddamn boring! All the care about is . . . is making swords and wandering around in the woods. And Iluvatar. Stupid ass Iluvatar. They _looooove_ Iluvatar so hard. It’s like sitting in a revival church in Tennessee, I swear to god.”

Sirius was laughing openly.

“I’m going to be single my whole life,” she said, and sighed. “Fuck it.”

“Well that’s two of us,” said Sirius grumpily, smoking. “Blimey, used to be I couldn’t keep them off of me. Now here I am coming up on forty, and it’s been years.” He blew his long hair out of his face irritably. “Dunno how long I can keep this up.”

“Years?” Rane said, glancing at him and smiling. “Did you say _years?”_

“Years.”

“Good god,” said Rane. “I dunno how you manage to stay sane. _Years…_ sheesh. Wars have been started for less . . .”

“Oh, I suppose you’re going to rub it in my face, are you?” Sirius said, grinning at her, his eyebrows high. “Pretty little Rane the half-Elf strutting about breaking hearts, are you then? Got to beat them off with a baseball bat?”

“You’re pretty familiar with beating things off, I bet,” Rane muttered, and a moment later Sirius was swiping at her playfully as she laughed.

They lapsed into silence. Rane stared across the brief lawn at the dark, foreboding trees. An owl hooted somewhere nearby - Hedwig, perhaps, hunting for mice in the starlight.

“To tell you the truth,” said Rane, “it’s been a while for me too.”

“Has it?” Sirius said, glancing at her curiously.

Rane shrugged and took a long drag on the cigarette before flicking the butt into the grass. “I guess I’ve just been busy. I haven’t so much as kissed anyone in months.”

“Nor I. We could fix that if you’d like.”

Rane looked at him, surprised, the beginning of a smile on her mouth. “What?”

“Kiss me,” Sirius repeated, turning to face her. “Go on.”

Rane stared at him, mystified. “You want me to kiss you.”

Sirius grinned at her. “Why not?”

Rane laughed, looking at him. “You’re having a go at me.”

“I’m not,” said Sirius. “Truth be told I wouldn’t mind it myself. In fact I’d . . . well . . .” He trailed off, for the first time seeming a little reticent. “I’d like it very much.”

Rane studied his face, searching for some sign of trickery, and found none.

“You want to kiss me?” she asked again.

Sirius took a breath and let it out. “Do I stutter?”

Rane looked into his eyes, hesitant.

“I . . . okay.”

Sirius shifted towards her, the chair scraping across the pavement, and leaned forward. Rane remained where she was, as motionless as a rabbit in headlights, staring at him, her hair over one shoulder, her hands clasped in her lap. He placed one hand on the arm of her chair, and the other on her cheek; his palm was warm, his skin soft, his touch very gentle.  
He paused before her, inches from her face, the fragrant smell of him washing over her, and looked into her eyes. Rane could hear his gentle breathing and the creak of the chair beneath his hand. When he spoke, his voice was very close and very kind.

“Sure?” he asked.

Rane’s heart was beating rapidly in her chest. She nodded minutely, and Sirius held her gaze a moment longer, then leaned forward and brushed his lips on hers. Rane could feel the roughness of his chin and the softness of his mouth; he drew back, as if waiting for a response, then leaned in, shifting, the chair moving beneath his weight, and pressed his mouth against hers more firmly. The taste of him was new and lovely; he tugged at her lower lip with infinite tenderness, kissed the corner of her mouth, and then moved back, his hand coming away from her face, and sat back down. Rane remained where she was for a moment and they stared at one another in the gloom.

“Taste like cigarettes, do I?” Sirius asked her slightly breathlessly.

Rane shook her head. “No, you taste good . . . I mean . . .”

Suddenly, she was acutely aware of what had just transpired between them, and her face reddened.

“That was lovely,” she said awkwardly, and laughed. “Really lovely.”

Sirius grinned. “It was . . . It was. Whew!” he added, patting his chest exaggeratedly. “Let me see your hand.”

Rane offered it, and Sirius took her hand and pressed it against his chest. Rane could feel Sirius’s heart thumping quickly against her palm, its beat strong and fast. She stared into his eyes, which had never left hers.

“Feel that?”

“Wow,” said Rane. His chest was warm and firm against the cold, the sensation of his heartbeat somehow vital.

They sat in silence for a moment. Sirius was smiling, one hand stroking his rough chin, staring out across the dark. Rane looked at him curiously.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked, grinning.

“I was just wondering what Remus would’ve made of that if he’d happened to come strolling out,” Sirius told her, laughing. “You know the rules.”

Rane did. Dumbledore had discouraged all of the Order members from becoming involved with one another, and she thought it was a rather good imperative, honestly. Of course, this was just a _kiss,_ nothing so robust as _involvement,_ after all . . . 

“He would have scolded us sternly, I‘m sure,” said Rane, chuckling. “Molly, now, she might have kicked the hell out of both of us . . .”

“Molly!” Sirius exclaimed, and threw his head back, laughing. “Oh boy, I forgot all about Molly! She wouldn’t have been able to keep her head on straight! Both of us out here smoking cigarettes and snogging in the wee hours of the morning . . .”

“It wasn‘t snogging, it was nice!” said Rane defensively, looking over at him. “Do you wish you hadn’t -?”

“Do I wish I hadn’t?” Sirius said incredulously, looking at her. “’Course I don’t!”

Their eyes met for a moment, Sirius sitting crookedly in his chair, the wind touching his long hair, Rane leaning against the arm of her own, her eyelashes sooty and outlined in the gloom. Suddenly Sirius leaned forward and placed his hands on each side of her face, his cigarette tumbling to the ground in a spray of sparks, and pressed his mouth into hers. The feeling of his lips, the coarseness of his chin, the hot wet sensation of his tongue, loosened her in every joint. She grasped the tendrils of his hair, loving their loose silkiness, loving the damp heat of his face beneath her palm. She could feel her heart pounding, loving that too. His mouth was the world.

Then he had drawn back, bent over her, and hung his head at her side, breathing hard, his hair obscuring his face.

“I‘m sorry,” he moaned, his voice close to her ear, and her flesh broke out in goose bumps. “I’m sorry . . . God dammit . . .”

Rane was breathing hard. Her heart was hammering. Sirius knelt before her, took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at her. His eyes were bright and there was a thin sheen of moisture on his hairline, glistening in the low light. Rane stared down into his eyes, gripping the arms of the chair tightly, her thin chest heaving.

Sirius swallowed hard. “God. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have . . . Shouldn’t have done that, it’s just . . .” He was panting. “It’s just, you’re . . .”

“It’s okay, Sirius, really,” Rane said, letting out a breathy laugh.

“You’re just so goddam beautiful,” Sirius said gravely. He swallowed again, took a deep breath and let it out. “Most beautiful thing I ever . . . Sitting there just . . . Just looking beautiful. I couldn’t . . .”

He shook his head, looking at her frankly. A moment of silence passed before them, broken only by their slightly harried breathing.

“Now we really _are_ going to get in trouble,” Rane said, smirking.

Sirius shook his head, swallowing. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck right now, Rane, to be honest with you.”

“Me neither,” Rane agreed, and she leaned down, took his face in her hands and gently kissed his mouth, liking the way his eyes fell shut at her touch as if in bliss, liking the way he leaned into her, liking the roughness of his skin and the scent of him, the taste of him. She drew back, looking into his face held between her hands, and his eyes slowly opened, his lips parted, looking up into hers.

“Is this okay?” she whispered to him.

Sirius shook his head, moving her hands with it. “Dunno,” he said quietly. “Thought we were only meant to kiss the one time.” He paused, then added, “what is ‘this,’ anyway?”

Rane shook her head; she didn’t know either. They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

“Come inside with me,” Sirius said to her haltingly.

Rane regarded him in silence without replying for a moment. He seemed about to repeat himself when she spoke.

“Hermione and Ginny -”

“I’m on the next floor up,” Sirius interrupted her.

Rane was nodding her head before she could even absorb what was happening, nodding it vigorously. “If you’re . . . if you’re sure.”

Sirius stood up and offered his hand to her. “I’m sure.”

She took it, rose, and stood looking up at him, the wind touching the tendrils of hair across her face. Sirius turned toward the house, still grasping her hand lightly, and she followed him through the door, which slid shut with a quiet snick behind them.

The house was silent but for the clock ticking in the foyer. Sirius strode toward the stairway and Rane followed him. They ascended past the first floor and when they reached the second, he turned, took her hand again, and led her down the hallway. The door to his room was slightly ajar, and upon seeing it, Rane was seized with a sudden, potent wave of desire as the reality of what was happening gripped her at last. _In there, through that door,_ her mind raved in amazement, _in there is where we’re going to be . . . Sirius . . . Sirius and me . . . Alone . . ._

Sirius pushed open the door, revealing his bedroom; it was small, unadorned except for his bed, a four-poster, which lay in silent waiting. There were posters on the wall, all of them distinctly reminiscent of a teenage boy; bands, scantily clad women, Quidditch. Sirius waved his wand and the candles at the sides of the bed popped alight, casting the room into flickering resolution. Behind her she heard the door shut with a creaky snap. She turned, and Sirius stood there, his back to the door, motionless, staring at her, his handsome face lit only by firelight.

“Are you sure?” she asked him again.

Sirius shook his head, striding towards her. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

He pressed his mouth against hers hard, and this time she felt his tongue flit out and caress her lips, and that did her in completely. She threw her arms around his neck, pressing his face into her, loving the way he tasted, needing him, and as they stumbled back towards the bed Sirius ran his fingers through her hair, kissing her neck, biting her ear, and his free hand ran down the small of her back, running up beneath her tank top and stroking the smooth skin there. She tugged at his shirt restlessly, and in one smooth motion he pulled it over his head and cast it aside, forgotten. Rane slipped her own off, and as they pressed into each other, the feeling of his bare skin on her breasts was overwhelming, alighting her. One of his hands reached up, caressed her left nipple, squeezed, and a moan escaped his lips as he kissed her. His hands found the rim of her shorts, yanked them unceremoniously off, and then one of his hands had found the slick, sweet cleft between her legs, and he ran his finger over her gently, maddeningly.

“God, I want you,” Sirius moaned into her mouth.

She broke away from him, sat on the bed and scooted backwards, and in the instant before he joined her there he stood at the end of the bed, looking at her longingly, his thin chest heaving, a lopsided smile touching his mouth, wearing only shorts - shorts which had picked up a distinct prominence. Rane stared at him admiringly, thinking again of how incredibly handsome he was - how incredibly sexy - and the need to have him overtook her again, making her gasp, loosening the muscles in her thighs.

“My god, you’re beautiful,” he said, breathing heavily.

“Take those off, will you?” she said huskily, lifting her chin at his boxers.

Sirius complied at once, and at last, not half an hour after finding him sitting outside without the merest hint of what was to come, she was looking at him standing fully naked before her. Her eyes traced the curve of his neck, the roundness of his shoulder, the thin line of black hair that began above his navel and descended amorously down, thickening above the perfect divot of his hipbone and ending at last at the shaft of his cock, which was long, full, and erect, trembling gently with his racing heartbeat. There he stood, breathing heavily, looking into her eyes, ready.

She sighed. “Oh, my god, Sirius. Come here.”

Sirius climbed onto the bed and then he was on top of her, pressing her down, and she lay beneath him, kissing him, feeling his body hot and firm against hers. She could feel his heart pounding wildly against her chest. His mouth was hot on hers, the feverish glow of his bare chest against hers unbearably warm in the flickering candlelight. And then she could feel the hot, throbbing hardness of him pressing against her down below and she let out a moan involuntarily. Sirius responded to it at once, renewed in his urgency.

“Please,” she moaned, and then, his breath hot and rough in her ear, she felt him pause, felt him reach down, and then his hand was clutching her, and when three fingers slid into her she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. The need for him was so urgent, so imperative.

“I’ve made you wet,” he growled into her ear, doglike, and she moaned against his shoulder, her fingernails digging into his back helplessly.

“Please . . .”

“Are you ready?”

“Please! Please, Sirius, God, please -!”

And then words failed her, because he had guided his cock into her and presently he thrust hard, and such a wave of blissful respite rode over her that she bit her lip against a scream. The sensation of him inside her - of the thickness of him, the warm firmness - was beyond coherent thought. She realized with dizzy alarm that she was going to climax soon.  
She stared up into his face, which was transported with bliss, his mouth slightly open, his eyes on hers, his brow furrowed in ecstasy, and as he drove into her again and again, his eyes didn’t leave hers. A glisten of moisture sparkled on his forehead. He reached up, touched her lip with his thumb, stroked her cheek.

“Rane,” he whispered reverently. “Oh, Rane. Oh . . . _Rane_ . . .”

She clutched at his shoulders and felt Sirius tense, his moans becoming louder, his breath harsher, oblivious to the noise they were making, and just before she reached her own pinnacle, she sensed he was going to reach his too. His motions slowed suddenly, his muscles tightened, and as Rane arched her back, biting her lip hard enough, to draw blood, he locked eyes with her, his hand between her shoulder blades, holding her close. And then, simultaneously, all conscious thought was wiped from their minds with the perfect soprano of ecstasy that engulfed them. Rane felt him inside her, deep, shuddering, felt the hotness of him as he filled her up, stared into his eyes as they stilled, swallowed up by their orgasms, motionless save for the frantic hammering of their hearts.

Then it was fading, and Sirius loosened and relaxed on her, his head lying on her shoulder, his long hair spread over her throat, breathing hard, the frenetic thumping of his heart conspicuous against Rane’s chest. He pulled himself out of her, sat up on an elbow at her side, and looked down into her face, his own flushed, tendrils of hair plastered to his sweaty neck.

“Blimey,” he gasped softly, and smiling lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her gently. He lay down beside her on his side, his head propped up on a pillow, and gazed at where she lay on her back, her hands laced on her chest, breathing hard, looking at him.

“You’re amazing,” she said breathlessly. “Just amazing.”

“Me?” said Sirius, smiling. “What about you, then? My god, you gorgeous creature . . . I dunno how I‘ll ever convince myself to get out of this bed.”

Rane waved a hand at him playfully. “Shucks.”

They lay there a moment in companionable silence, reeling, their breathing harsh.

“We should probably talk about what just happened,” Rane said quietly, staring at the ceiling.

Sirius groaned, rubbing his face with one hand. “I dunno _what_ just happened, to tell you the truth,” he remarked, muffled. “I never . . . Not in a hundred years . . .”

“I would never have thought you even would have wanted to _kiss_ me, and now . . . _this.”_ Rane gestured vaguely around them.

Sirius snorted. “You never would have thought I’d wanted to kiss _you?_ Really?”

Rane edged closer to him, and timidly pressed her naked body against his. He moved the arm nearest her out of her way and then, when she was close, settled it down around her, stroking her shoulder with his thumb. Rane stroked his chest gently, liking the way his skin felt - cool, sweaty, very there.

“Nope,” Rane answered. “No way.”

“Rane,” said Sirius, “I don’t know a man or beast alive who wouldn’t give his right eye for the chance. I’ve always thought you were bloody beautiful. Always. From the first day I saw you.”

“Why didn’t you ever -?”

“What, tell you?” Sirius said, looking down at her out of the corner of his eye. He squeezed her shoulder gently. “And then what? What good’s it going to do you to know that a bloody convict on the run from the law is -?”

He stopped abruptly, seeming to realize what he was saying. He lay very still for a moment, his hand unmoving on Rane’s shoulder. He was looking at the ceiling determinedly, frowning slightly.

“What?” Rane said quietly.

Sirius took a breath and let it out through pursed lips. “Forget it,” he said in a falsely offhand tone.

“Come on,” Rane sat up on her elbow, her face inches from his. He looked up at her, the flickering candlelight reflecting in his eyes.

“Just . . . I’m not exactly . . .” Sirius trailed off, his face slightly flushed, looking exasperated.

Rane looked at him for a moment, then leaned down and kissed his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his mouth; she trailed her fingers down the hollow of his throat. Sirius placed a hand behind her neck and pulled her mouth to his, and his kiss was warm, tender. She lay down beside him, lay her head on his chest and listened for a moment to the low, steady beating of his heart, strong and deep inside him. His hand crept over to her, caressed her hair, and she reached up and took it in her own, their fingers laced.

“Stay with me tonight,” Sirius murmured, and kissed her forehead gently.

Rane squeezed his hand. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

Soon they were asleep, wound together, content in a way neither of them had been for a very long time.


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane and Sirius must reconcile the prior night's activities and practice their poker faces at breakfast

  
Rane’s eyes opened, quite suddenly, and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was, because the ceiling she was looking at wasn’t the one she was accustomed to. The sounds of Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger gently snoring nearby wasn’t evident either. To her left, there was a bedside table, empty except for two candles that were burned down to the quick, barely living flames within a melted pool of sallow wax that had coated both the hooked candleholders and most of the top of the wooden surface. The room smelled like sweat and burning wickers, a not entirely unpleasant blend. The room was awash in the thin golden-red light of dawn, setting affable shadows against all it touched.

What was more, she was, she realized, completely naked, lying on her back, quite warm . . . and not alone.

She turned her head to the right, feeling her long hair pulling taut beneath the small of her back, and saw Sirius Black.

His profile was visible in the dim half-light, the golden glow illuminating the pared shape of his jaw line, the soft curve of his forehead, the gentle gather of his lips, the roughness of his unshaven chin. He was breathing gently, still perfectly peaceful in sleep, unperturbed by her movement. His scant blanket, threadbare and worn, was pulled down to his navel, and Rane could see that she wasn’t the only one that was at least mostly nude. One arm was slung around her, cupping her shoulder with gentle, involuntary tenderness. His body was extraordinarily warm against hers, the calm motions of his respiration pressing against her bare ribs.

And now, it was all beginning to come back to her . . . Her middle-of-the-night excursion to the terrace to beleaguer her insomnia, not dissimilar from any other evening; finding Sirius sitting there, smoking a clandestine cigarette away from Molly’s prying eyes; their kiss, so completely unforeseen; and then . . .

_Jesus Christ, did we_ fuck?

The thought struck her as bordering upon ludicrous. She, Rane, was . . . Well, nobody, really. She was twenty-five, freshly through the Auror examination, had hardly seen battle, had been recruited by the Order of the Phoenix not even a year ago, and her only claim to any kind of real reputation was her stupid goddamned half-bloodedness. Her father, an Elven warrior and a wizard, and her Muggle mother had passed on that nonsense to her. And what a lot of nonsense it turned out to be. She’d had to fight tooth and nail to be allowed into the Auror entry program against the likes of Dolores Umbridge, for starters, and not a few others who saw a half-Elf becoming an Auror as dangerous and sordid. “The stigma of her parentage,” as the Elves of Forodhaithas often called it, had followed her like an ugly boon for all her life; first in the Elven lands where she was seen as a malignancy of some kind, then at Hogwarts where she‘d never been completely accepted by her professors, then at the Ministry of Magic, where she was feared and avoided. Save her father, there were no other Elves employed in the Ministry, and for that matter there were hardly any Elves within the magical community itself. They stayed within their own ranks, and the wizards and witches stayed in theirs; Rane, alone in her pairing between them, was caught gracelessly in the middle of this not-quite-hostile duality.

Apart entirely from any of this, she hadn’t so much as kissed anyone for longer than she could recall. Yet here she lay, in bed with Sirius goddam Black, who she’d known only since Voldemort’s return, who she’d sat across from in Order meetings and clinked mugs of wine with over meals, who had shown her one afternoon on a whim how to properly greet his pet hippogriff, Buckbeak, for whom she‘d always fostered a certain affection. She had liked his affability, his easy grace, his astute eyes, the way he seemed to fear few things. The rest of the Order members had seemed stiff and painfully somber; Sirius never hesitated to catch her eye across the table and wink when Mad-Eye said something particularly barmy. One evening, after Dumbledore had concluded a meeting and Rane was gathering up plates and goblets for Molly, Sirius had offhandedly asked her if she was married.

_No one’s even managed to put up with me for more than a couple of hours yet_ , she’d replied with droll surprise. It had been true enough; her burgeoning career as an Auror coupled with her dealings with the Elves kept her very occupied and very isolated, a bit of a double-edged sword in many ways. The idea of marriage had occurred to her only insofar that it granted her absolution from her father’s occasional queries; the idea of a relationship hardly entered her mind at all. The four or five times in the past year that she’d halfheartedly agreed to some proposal from a bloke at work or something had finished quickly after her suitors had realized how little time and effort she was actually prepared to put in, how quickly her interest lapsed into courtesy and then into apathy.

_Well, I’ve managed to put up with you all evening_ , Sirius had replied, gathering up his own stack of plates, _though I do wish you’d have left that accent in America, it’s awful_ . . .

Rane had put on an ersatz English lilt, screwing up her face at him. _Oh, do forgive me, guv’nah, terribly sorry_ . . .

_Not at all, ma‘am, not at all_ , Sirius had replied pertly in an exaggerated Texas drawl, and Rane had snorted, kicking at him playfully. He had thrown her a coy grin over one shoulder as he’d gone loping off into the kitchen with his dishes, and Rane, who had only a nodding acquaintance with proper flirting, had felt an abrupt and completely unexpected warmth in her belly at the sight of that grin.

Now, lying in bed with him, she placed the palm of her hand against his bristly cheek and moved his face closer to hers. His eyes fluttered open, surprisingly gray, the reddish glow of the dawn reflected within them like deep flames.

“Hi,” Rane said tentatively.

“Hi,” Sirius replied softly, his voice gravelly with sleep. One hand reached up, pushed the tendrils of her hair from her face. “You’re still here.”

“Told you I’d stay,” Rane said. She leaned forward and brushed her lips on his gently.

Sirius stretched richly, groaning, resettling his arm around her, and moved onto one side so that he could look down at her properly.

“So,” he said, running his fingers up her arm lightly, “let’s hear it.”

Rane lifted her eyebrows questioningly.

“How are you feeling about everything now morning’s come?”

“Everything?” said Rane.

“Yes, everything. The sex bit in particular.”

“We had _sex?_ Oh, my god . . . ”

Sirius chuckled, but his eyes remained fixed on her, serious and perhaps a touch anxious.

“Come on, out with it.”

Rane took a breath and let it out. “How do I feel about it,” she said pensively. She thought for a moment, feeling Sirius’s eyes on her. In truth, the sex bit, as Sirius had put it, wasn’t the first thing that had come to her mind when he’d asked her how she felt; it was what he had seemed to be about to say afterwards that leapt into her mind. But she felt she wasn’t quite equipped to tackle that one just yet; best leave that for when the sun was a little higher in the sky.

“I can’t believe it happened,” she said at length, looking at him frankly. “But I’m glad it did.”

“Ohthankfuck,” Sirius said in one word, rolling onto his back and covering his face with his free hand. He dragged it to his chin, staring at her over his fingers. “You aren’t upset?” He asked her, his voice muffled.

She shook her head. “Are you . . . ?”

Sirius stopped her words with his mouth, placing one warm hand on her cheek. “I’m still not convinced I’m not dreaming,” he said, “but I’m happy.”

“Me too,” Rane replied truthfully. She sighed. “This next part is going to be a bit harder . . . “

“Bit harder than what, me?” Sirius asked, grinning at her.

Rane cocked an eyebrow at him. “D’you have any idea how I’m going to get out of here without letting the whole headquarters know I spent the night with you?”

Sirius sat up, his brow furrowed. “Blimey . . . Hadn’t thought of that . . . “

“Do you think everyone’s already awake?” she asked him anxiously. “Ginny and Hermione and the rest of them?”

“Dunno,” said Sirius pensively. “We’ll be alright, though. You go down first, that’s all. None the wiser.”

“I hope Dumbledore and Mad Eye aren’t here,” Rane murmured worriedly.

“Dumbledore wouldn’t have you on the outs just because you slept with me, Rane,” Sirius said, looking at her in surprise. “Mad Eye wouldn’t either, for that matter. He’s a nutter, he might give you a hard time about it, but he wouldn’t -”

“You know what Dumbledore said about . . . About this,” Rane said grimly.

“You worry too much,” Sirius grumbled, throwing the blankets off of him and straightening. Nude, he stood with his back to Rane, stretching richly, and Rane had a moment to admire the long muscles in his back flexing in the contrast of the golden morning glow.

“You’re probably right,” Rane agreed.

A moment of silence passed between them. Sirius had laced his hands behind his neck, his shoulder flexed. Presently, he placed them on his hips and looked down, the fine hairs on his head glowing in the morning light like a crown. Rane could hear birds chirping.

“So, is that it, then?” he said, very quietly, not looking at her.

“What do you mean?”

Sirius didn’t face her, not quite; he half-turned, though, so that Rane could make out some of his profile through the sheet of his hair, moving minutely with his gentle breath. He was still looking at the floor, as if ashamed.

“Will I . . .” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Will I see you again?”

Rane threw the blankets off of her as well and went to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face between his shoulder blades and basking in the pleasant morning smell of him. She felt him relax in her grip, felt the tips of his fingers brushing lightly against her forearm. And now, she was thinking again about what had happened between them, really thinking about it. The suddenness of what had transpired the night before, the furor of it - it hadn’t been like the times she was used to. It wasn’t one of her one-night stands with some Johnny-come-lately from who-gives-a-shit-where, some wizard from a tavern she’d stopped in after her duty was finished perhaps, a dry business-like transaction that had led to the mindless, methodical motions of two unaffiliated participants who parted ways as quickly as they’d come together, the encounter forgotten by noon. It hadn’t even been like the handful of men she’d dated, men who were far more enamored by her than she had been with them. This had been hard, full of unspoken emotion, with the fury and slightly frantic ardor of floodgates flung wide open after what had been perhaps months of amassing rumination.

Rane tightened her grip briefly, then placed a gentle kiss on Sirius’s back. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice muffled against him. She paused, then added, “I want to.”

“You do?” His voice, timid, so frighteningly unlike his usual boisterous affect.

Rane nodded against him.

Sirius took a big breath and released it, squeezing her wrist. “Good.”  


“Good morning, Rane!”

Rane grinned at Remus as she came into the dining room where everyone was down for breakfast, hoping she didn‘t look as guilty as she felt. Remus, Molly and Arthur were busying themselves with bacon and the Daily Prophet on the far side of the table; Hermione, Ginny, Ron, and Harry had taken up spots nearer the door, and she was glad for her part that Hermione in particular was facing away from her; Hermione was as clever as any grown witch and Rane felt certain that if anyone was capable of calling her out aside from Dumbledore or Mad Eye (neither of which, thankfully, was in evidence), it was her. She sat down beside Ron Weasley and took a cinnamon roll.

“Oh, hello, Rane, dear,” said Molly, waving her wand; an old-fashioned mug of coffee manifested itself, and she slid it towards Rane with a smile. “We didn’t think we’d see you for a bit, I was certain you‘d be exhausted after pulling night duty Friday.”

“Well, you know me, practically nocturnal anyway,” Rane said, taking the coffee gratefully. “Did you guys sleep okay?”

“Like a rock,” said Ron, yawning.

“I did as well,” said Ginny, “Didn’t even hear you get up, actually - did you, Hermione?”

“No, I didn’t either,” Hermione agreed, looking at Rane over the rim of her coffee. 

“Were you up again late last night?” Harry asked her, glancing sidelong at her. “I thought I heard you coming in from the terrace.”

“I was, yeah,” Rane replied carefully, silently ruing her conversation about not sleeping well with Harry a few nights prior. “I hope I didn’t wake you up . . .”

“When did you come back to bed, anyway?” Hermione asked. She was still looking at Rane over her mug.

Rane made a bit of a business of stuffing more of her roll into her mouth, but was rescued by Arthur, who had just lowered his Prophet.

“Any news from Dumbledore?”

“Nothing yet,” said Remus, sipping his coffee. “Last I heard from him was a fortnight ago.”

“I haven’t talked to him since he assigned me duty last week,” said Rane, kindling to this welcome change of topic. “I’m sure he’s busy.”

“Have you been to the Ministry yet this weekend?” Arthur asked her. “Kingsley asked me to tell you to come see him in his office before the week is out, he wants to discuss Sirius -”

Rane choked on her coffee and began to cough.

“- and what’s being fed to the Minister about his location,” Arthur finished, setting down his mug and looking at her with some concern. “Are you alright? Went down the wrong pipe, did it?”

“Fine!” Rane spluttered.

“Yes, well,” said Arthur, eyeing her, “do be sure to pop in and pay him a visit when you get to the office, won’t you?”

“’Course!” Rane replied in a strangled voice, “I’ll go see him as soon as I’m -”

“Top o’ the morning to ye!” cried a genial, familiar voice behind her.

A moment later, Sirius had sat himself down beside Remus, directly across the table from her. Rane stared at him.

“Alright, Sirius?” said Harry.

“Delightful!” Sirius replied, looking positively jolly. “You lot look like a sprightly bunch this morning!”

Unlike Rane, he didn’t look even remotely uncomfortable; indeed, he was the picture of good health, ruddy and freshly shaven, looking rather dapper in a casual blazer, his long black hair tamed into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. _If you didn’t know better you’d think he got lucky last night_ , Rane thought to herself, and had to lower her face into her coffee cup to hide her smile.

“You look quite dashing today,” said Molly, looking at him with some surprise.

“Why, thank you, Molly,” said Sirius, nodding to her graciously while choosing a kipper from the plate in the center of the table.

“What’s the occasion?” asked Ron, gnawing on a strip of bacon. “Hot date or something?”

Rane cleared her throat loudly.

“You‘re looking lovely today, Rane,” Sirius said, throwing a lopsided grin at her.

“I - I mean, I’m - um - am I?”

“Pretty as a picture,” said Sirius. “Isn’t she, Moony? Certainly a lovely thing.”

“Quite,” Remus agreed politely.

“Yes, quite beautiful, I agree,” Sirius said softly, resting his chin on his fist and staring at her with unfiltered affection.

“Honestly, Sirius,” said Ginny around her orange juice, looking severely at him. 

“What?” Sirius said, giving her an injured look. Ginny rolled her eyes.

Rane had flushed a deep crimson. She stared into Sirius’s face, feeling a mixture of exasperation and affection towards him that quite tied her tongue. And now, of course, everyone else was looking at her too, bewildered by her inelegance. In particular, Molly and Hermione were watching her with sudden curiosity; Harry, meanwhile, was attempting to rub the fingerprints off his wand with a wad of his jumper and Ron was picking kipper out of his teeth.

“Thanks,” Rane said gracelessly, and crammed a wad of cinnamon roll into her mouth, hoping she wouldn’t be asked to comment further.

There was a slightly awkward silence at the table, broken only by Ron’s unlovely chewing sounds.

“Are you alright, Rane?” Remus asked her.

Rane cleared her throat and met his eyes, straightening a little. “Yeah! I’m - I’m really - I’m good, thanks. How are you?”

Remus’s eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. “I’m quite good, thank you.”

“Well!” said Arthur, clapping his hands and standing up, seemingly quite oblivious to the tension. “I best be off. Molly, love, I’ll try to be home tonight for supper straightaway.”

“Of course, dear,” said Molly as Arthur bent and planted a kiss on her temple.

“Arthur, I’d been meaning to tell you,” said Remus, mercifully turning his attention from Rane for a moment, “there was something I would like you to research in the Ministry archives for me regarding Rodolphus Lestrange . . .”

While Remus was speaking to Arthur, Rane turned a sharp eye on Sirius over her coffee mug. He was smirking at her, crunching idly on a kipper.

_What the_ fuck? she mouthed.

“It’s fine!” Sirius said in a low voice, leaning across the table to address her. Harry and Ron, Rane noticed, were speaking together, but Hermione was watching their exchange with interest. “What are you so worried about, anyway?”

“Worried?” Hermione said. “Who’s worried? About what?”

“Nothing,” said Rane quickly, “it’s just -”

“She’s worried,” said Sirius loudly, speaking over her, “that someone might get the wrong idea because we were both up last night and met out on the veranda.”

And now, of course, Ron and Harry were listening too, and Rane took such a large gulp of coffee that her throat seared, feeling her forehead burning.

“What d’you mean?” said Ron.

“Like, you planned meeting out there?” Harry chimed in, looking between them.

“No!” Sirius replied. He had lost none of his conviviality, Rane noticed, and she grudgingly admired him for it. “No, we both just . . . Couldn’t sleep. Happened on each other in the wee hours.”

“Oh, were you smoking again?” said Hermione.

Now it was Sirius’s turn to look astonished. Rane laughed in spite of herself at his unmistakable surprise.

“What? Smoking, I don’t -!”

“Oh honestly, I’ve seen you out there, haven’t I?” said Hermione loftily, stirring her coffee. “It’s quite alright, I won’t tell Mrs. Weasley . . . “

“I - well, alright, so . . . I suppose I may have been smoking,” said Sirius, ruffled. “And Rane couldn’t sleep either, so we both just -”

“We just sat together on the porch,” Rane interrupted, casting Sirius a dark glance. “And it was just -”

“Did you two snog?” said Ron suddenly.

Rane and Sirius were both stunned into silence at this. Ron, still chewing his kipper, was looking at them with frank, polite interest.

“Well?” he said after a moment. “Did you?”

Rane and Sirius exchanged a look, and what Rane saw on Sirius’s reddening face - total and absolute bafflement - made her laugh.

“Ron, old man, what a thing to say!” said Sirius, though he was grinning too.

Ron, Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, but Rane was too busy looking across the table at Sirius, who had met her eyes. She held his gaze, busily admiring his tenacity if nothing else, thinking that in spite of everything she’d made a good choice.  



	3. A Lesson in Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane arrives at Order Headquarters after receiving some bad news and finds herself struggling with the urge to seek comfort in Sirius.

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

Rane stared at the Minister in complete shock. Cornelius Fudge was standing before her, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his bowler hat trembling in the breeze. It was a cool day for September, the sun riding high in a grayish sky. They were standing outside a pub, Rane clad in jeans and a hoody, Fudge in a rather gaudy pinstriped muggle suit.

“Well, I’m sorry to say that I am,” said Fudge, giving her a smile that suggested he wasn’t sorry at all. “I’m not the one that makes these decisions, I’m afraid, the Wizengamot are the ones that call the shots on this sort of thing, quite above my influence -”

“But . . . Surely there’s something you can do -?”

But Fudge was shaking his head.

“I’m afraid not, my dear . . . You’ll be compensated of course, very well taken care of and everything, but the decision was made and of course we must abide by these things . . .”

Rane stood silent in the windy afternoon, her mouth hanging open, staring helplessly. She had just lost her job. Fudge had taken her to the pub under the premise of “having a chat” and then told her that the Wizengamot had voted on her dismissal, citing that her Elven blood may interfere with her impartiality as an Auror. She had been completely blindsided; her career was her passion, and to be told that something entirely out of her control was the cause for it being snatched away from her was nothing short of devastating.

“Sir . . .” Rane took a steadying breath and released it, willing herself not to get angry and make things worse. “Sir, this is . . . This is highly unusual. My heritage has never interfered with my work, I scored top marks in the exam and I’ve done a good job, I think I deserve an opportunity to appeal this, or _something_ -!”

“Ah, I’m afraid the Wizengamot’s made up their minds,” said Fudge, shaking his head. “It’s not, er, a situation we’ve encountered in the past, and you must understand that of course this isn’t to do with your performance as an Auror . . . We just feel that, given the current climate and all . . . You understand . . . Politics, that sort of thing . . . Can’t have an Elf in such a delicate position, it isn’t fair to -”

“Not fair?” Rane gaped at him. It was taking every ounce of self-control she had not to betray the mounting fury she felt. “The only person this isn’t fair to is me -”

“Well, some of the senior Aurors seem to feel you’ve got an advantage, you see.”

“An advantage.” Rane’s voice was flat. “Because I’m part Elf. Because what, I carry a sword? What’s the difference?”

“And of course there is the issue of your father, as well,” Fudge continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “It puts the Ministry at risk, having someone of your - er, ethnicity - working so closely alongside delicate information . . .”

Rane stared at Fudge, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“’Delicate’ - sir, are you suggesting I’m relaying information to the Elves?”

“No, of course not, of course not, nothing of the sort,” Fudge stammered, but Rane knew she’d just hit the nail on the head. He didn’t want the Elves wise to the Ministry’s dealings. And just like that, she’d come to the very heart of the reason why she was being fired; Fudge was afraid of the Elves. He didn’t want their interference.

“Minister,” said Rane, forcing her voice to remain calm. “I can assure you that the Council knows as much as we do without having to be told. Probably more. There’s nothing anyone can do about that even if we wanted to, certainly firing me isn’t going to stop them from knowing what’s going on, and shutting them out at a time like this isn’t a good idea, surely you must -”

“So you _have_ been relaying information, then?” Fudge interrupted her quickly, looking exultant.

“No, I haven’t,” Rane said slowly. “I don’t need to tell them anything. They already know everything they think they need to -”

“What on earth would the Elves want with information from the Ministry of Magic, then?” Fudge said sharply. “Do you think it very wise to allow them further access to -?”

“I haven’t allowed them further access to anything, I’ve just told you!” Rane said, her voice rising. “And as to what they would do with any information they might have, I don’t have any idea because I’m not on the council, but I’d be willing to bet good money that for starters they would use it to keep us safe, like they always have!”

“Safe? Safe from what?”

“Safe from what? How about from the Death Eaters?” Rane said loudly. “And Voldemort!”

Fudge fell silent. He was looking at her with a triumphant, smug expression, nodding, as if he‘d been expecting this lunacy all along.

“Well,” he said. “I think I’ve said quite enough here. I think it’s wise not to keep a - a double agent in the field with continued access to -”

“A double agent?!” Rane was nearly shouting now, her eyes blazing, the wind whipping her long hair hither and yon. A couple walking into the pub together gave her a startled look and hurried on. “A double agent?! Are you _kidding_ me?”

“My dear girl!” said Fudge, his own voice rising. “I assure you this is no joke! Now, if there’s nothing else, it’s getting quite late!”

Rane stared at Fudge. She had never particularly liked him - he was blustering, a little longwinded and haughty - but she would never have thought he would be standing before her in this capacity, a short, angry man who was so unwilling to see the truth in front of his face that he was cutting off an envoy to perhaps the most powerful allies on his side.

Rane spun wordlessly on her heel and strode off. Once she was safely out of eyeshot of the pub, she Disapparated, not bothering to look over her shoulder to see whether Fudge was still standing there watching her.

“Evening, Rane. Please, come in out of the cold.”

Remus Lupin had opened the door to headquarters. He looked shabbier than usual; his cheeks were unshaven and there were circles beneath his eyes. Rane suspected the full moon was approaching, or perhaps freshly passed.

“I hope it’s not too late,” said Rane, closing the door behind her. “I was hoping I could stay tonight, I was just around the corner in London . . .”

“I’m afraid most of the Order have gone,” Remus said, waving his wand at the door; the numerous locks and bolts there snapped themselves shut. “Ginny and Hermione are likely asleep but I’m sure they won’t mind the company. Is everything alright?”

“I . . . well . . .” Rane looked at Remus’s careworn face, his brow furrowed with concern, and decided she couldn’t quite summon the courage to say any more. “Yeah, I’m good. Just wasn’t up for the journey home. Tired, I guess.”

Remus looked at her a moment longer, “Of course, of course. There’s some leftover stew in the cauldron I think, if you’re peckish -”

“Is Sirius here?” Rane asked before she could stop herself.

“Of course he is,” Remus told her, looking mildly surprised. “Where else would he be?”

Rane blinked. “No, of course he is . . . Sorry, stupid . . .”

Remus looked at her a moment longer, scrutinizing her unabashedly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Rane nodded firmly. “I just . . . I wanted to ask him something. About the Order. Before I turn in. That’s all.”

“Certainly, certainly,” Remus said, nodding, just as if this wasn’t the weirdest slapped-together excuse ever uttered in his presence. “I expect you’ll find him in his room.”

Rane nodded. “I just - silly of me - well, I’m off to bed, Remus, I’ll see you tomorrow morning . . . Thanks again . . .”

She strode hastily off toward the stairway and thundered up them, leaving Remus to watch her ascension curiously.

Rane walked past Hermione’s and Ginny’s doorway, having had no intention to stop, and continued to the third floor. Sirius’s door was shut, but she could see the flicker of candlelight coming from the gap beneath it and felt certain he was awake. She paused before the door, lifted a hand to knock, and hesitated.

 _What am I doing_? she wondered abruptly. _What am I doing, showing up unannounced at his door like this? How do I know he even wants to see me?_

The thought brought a wave of genuine desolation over her, the culmination of the loss of her job not even an hour ago coupled now with the painful realization that she could be easily making something out of nothing. The fact of the matter was that Sirius had just had sex with her, randomly, one evening about a week beforehand. Perhaps afterwards he had seemed ready to say . . . Well, _something,_ yes, but was any of it true? Or was it just the farce of a man high on the afterglow? And if it was, how would she know? Did she even know him at all?

The honest answer was no, she hardly knew him. It had only been mere months prior that she’d met him for the first time in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. She could still recall the evening with perfect clarity; Sirius, ushered in by Dumbledore who sat calmly at the table between them like a referee, and she, Rane, drawing her wand on him in alarm and threatening to arrest the both of them. How many times had she seen Sirius’s gaunt face staring at her from the posters plastered all over the Ministry, after all? And now, wonder of wonders, here she was, ready to give into this . . . This whatever-it-was, this weird, unprecedented wanting of him. The _missing_ of him. Emotion where no emotion should be, certainly, springing from her subconscious like dandelions on a manicured lawn.

She turned her head, her fist still lifted before the door, and looked directly into her own eyes in the framed mirror that hung on the wall there. Her eyes traced the curve of her neck, the glisten of her hazel eyes, the flow of her long dark hair over her shoulder, the flatness of her belly just visible beneath the rim of her hoody. There she stood, tall and lean and indecisive, hesitating before the door of this man like a teenager; her face filled with uncertainty.

 _This can’t be who I am,_ she thought fiercely. _I’m stronger than this, I’m not some . . . Some doe-eyed twelve year old, falling in love with the first guy who gives me a moment’s attention._

And then, on the tail of this: _I’m not in love with him, though. I’m not, am I?_

She lowered her fist, feeling the first touch of shame, and turned away, meaning to walk down the stairs and back out the front door, back to her own flat, where she would pour herself a glass of wine or three, send an owl to Dumbledore and her father, and decide what the next step was. But the door opened behind her, and she turned, her hair whirling around her head, and she was looking into Sirius’s face.

He stood with one hand on the door, naked save a pair of worn trousers, his dark hair in disarray.

“Rane?”

They stared at each other for a moment. Rane looked frightened; Sirius looked shocked into silence.

“I’m sorry, I just - I didn’t - I didn’t mean to wake you up, I just got here,” Rane stammered ineptly.

“You didn’t wake me up,” said Sirius, still staring at her. “I just didn’t expect you . . . Where’ve you been?”

This question took Rane by surprise. She hadn’t been at headquarters since the week prior, after her awkward breakfast with Sirius. He had looked vibrant that day, nary a care in the world; the Sirius that stood before her now looked less than glowing. There were shadows beneath his eyes and his face was unshaven.

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me,” Sirius told her. An expression was stealing over his face, one so unfamiliar that Rane didn’t recognize for what it was right away: hurt. And now she saw the true idiocy of her hesitation at Sirius’s door, the true selfishness. She had been so caught up in her own doubt, the potential for her own anguish, that she had not given a thought to Sirius, who she’d left the morning after they’d been together and not returned to since.

“I didn’t think you wanted to see _me,”_ she said in barely more than a whisper. She shook her head, then lowered her gaze to the floor and began to turn away. “I should go, I shouldn’t have -”

Then Sirius had pulled her to him, and his arms were around her, and she was awash in his warmth and the familiar scent of him. He spoke in a hushed voice at her ear, his breath hot on her skin, one hand on the back of her head.

“You don’t have to go,” he said softly. Then, after a pause: “Please don’t. Don’t go.”

A moment passed like this, and then Sirius drew back, holding her by the shoulders, looking frankly into her eyes, and Rane saw that his own dark eyes were glistening with tears in the dim light.

“Please don’t go,” he whispered again, stroking her hair out of her face with infinite tenderness.

Rane stared at him, then abandoning all pretense leaned forward and kissed him fiercely, basking in the taste of his mouth against hers, feeling the hotness of his exhale against her. She drew back and placed her forehead on his, her eyes closed, relishing him.

“I missed you,” she said fiercely, surrendering to whatever consequences came of this pronouncement. “I missed you, Sirius . . .”

“I missed you too,” Sirius told her, his voice trembling slightly. “So damn much.”

They remained that way for a moment, their breath coming in quick gasps.

“Come lay with me,” said Sirius. “Stay with me tonight. Tell me what’s happened. Alright?”

He met her eyes, their faces still touching, his eyes brimming with the same relief and emotion Rane was feeling. She nodded, biting her lip, and let him take her hand, leading her into his bedroom. She shut the door behind them with a soft snick.

SIRIUS’S room was a mess. Piles of empty, blood-soaked sacks were piled in the corner; robes littered the floor, and several goblets sat on the dresser table, some of them overturned. One of these, closest to Sirius’s bed, was still partially full of what looked like wine.

“I’ve been in a right state,” said Sirius, following her gaze abashedly. “Been a few years since I’ve had to deal with a proper rejection . . .”

“Rejec - how, _how_ did I reject you?” Rane said as he sat on his bed, keeping his eyes on her. “I haven’t even _been_ here since -!”

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it?” said Sirius, looking down at his hands. “You haven’t been here.”

Rane fell silent.

“I thought . . .” Sirius ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I thought you might have regretted it, Rane. Been avoiding me. When I didn’t see you at the meetings I thought for sure that was what it was, it’s not like you to miss them . . . Even Bill mentioned it.” Sirius barked a rather cynical laugh. “He kept saying maybe you’d met someone and it was keeping you away, you can imagine how I felt hearing _that_ . . .”

“Why do _you_ care if I met someone or not?” Rane asked him.

Sirius scoffed at once, shaking his head, but said nothing.

“I’ve just been working, Sirius,” she said, but abruptly she wasn’t sure if that was entirely true. Hadn’t she been sort of circumventing headquarters since she’d slept with Sirius? Hadn’t a part of her perhaps subconsciously found something else to keep her occupied both times a meeting had been held that week? Hadn’t this fear of meaning nothing to Sirius, who she would necessarily need to spend time around as long as she was in the Order of the Phoenix, kept her corralled at the Ministry a little more than usual?

What was worse, she realized, he had been on her mind almost constantly. She’d gone over and over their night together, talking herself in circles, trying to deny that she had felt something more than just carnal desire for him, justifying what Sirius had said to her as the heat of the moment . . .

“Okay,” she said, sitting down next to him and looking at him frankly. “Okay, so it was a little weird at first -”

“Weird? Blimey,” said Sirius woefully, clutching his heart. _“Weird,_ she says -!”

“No - not because of you, because of me,” Rane said unsmilingly. Sirius fell silent, looking at her. “I didn’t know . . . I dunno . . . How to . . .”

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair roughly. “I suck at this,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t think - I dunno, I didn’t think I meant anything to you. I’m just some . . . Some random girl you fucked -”

“Rane, you’re the only random girl I’ve fucked,” Sirius told her. “The only one. In ages. And certainly the only one I’ve . . . Well, wanted to see more of. A lot more.”

This pronouncement hung between them pregnantly.

“I just . . . I didn’t think you cared,” Rane said again softly.

Sirius barked a laugh. “I wish . . . Well, to be honest, I wish I didn’t. It’s a bit scary. But . . .” He lifted both hands. “I do. I do care, Rane. A bloody lot, I do.”

Rane sighed and said nothing.

“Now,” said Sirius, kicking back on his bed and putting his hands behind his head. He patted the spot beside him. “Come on. Tell me what’s up, because I can tell you’re in a right state.”

Rane sighed gloomily. In the heat of the moment she’d nearly forgotten about her talk with the Minister. She scooted backwards, laid down on her back next to Sirius and looked up at his ceiling, trying to decide where to begin.

“I got shitcanned,” she said after a moment.

Sirius propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her, paling considerably. “Oh, bloody hell, did Mad-Eye find out or -?”

“No, no,” said Rane, shaking her head, though she couldn’t suppress a smile. The idea that she had worried she would lose her job because someone found out she’d spent the night with Sirius seemed darkly ironic now. “No, nothing to do with you, I promise.”

Sirius rolled back onto his back and sighed loudly with relief. “Right, well, what was it, then?”

“Fudge thinks I’m a spy for the Elves.”

“That’s barmy.”

“I know it is,” said Rane, “but he’s convinced. He doesn’t want them to know anything about what’s happening inside the Ministry, I guess. I dunno. It blindsided me. Completely out of left field.” She hesitated. “Pissed me off, too.”

“I’d like a few minutes alone with that bastard,” Sirius growled darkly. “That’s two innocent people now he’s sorted onto the wrong side . . .”

“I have to get in touch with Dumbledore tomorrow,” said Rane. “He’ll know what to do.”

There was a sudden knock at the door. Rane and Sirius both jumped.

 _“Shit!”_ Rane hissed, looking wildly around for somewhere to hide.

“It's fine, it's fine, calm down,” Sirius murmured, though he looked worried himself. He cleared his throat and called, “Yes?”

“It’s me,” said Remus’s voice from behind the door, “Do you have a moment?”

“Er, right hang on mate!” Sirius called stumbling to his feet. He snatched up a t-shirt adorned with the logo of the Holyhead Harpies from where he’d chucked it onto the floor and pulled it on hastily. “Hang on, hang on -!”

Rane had leapt to her feet as well, still looking around for a hiding place; however, she was out of luck. There wasn’t so much as a closet for her to jump into. And now the doorknob was turning.

“I’m coming in, find your trousers,” Lupin said, sounding bemused.

 _Behind the door!_ Sirius mouthed at her, pointing wildly. Rane didn’t have time to hesitate; she rushed to the doorway, cramming herself into the crevice there just as Lupin stepped in, mere inches away from her. Visible in the crack between the edge of the door and the wall she could now see Sirius, sitting on the bed looking simultaneously nonchalant and guilty.

“Evening Moony, what’s got you out of bed?” he said in an absurdly casual voice.

“Got a moment?” Lupin asked him, striding over to the bed and taking a seat next to Sirius.

“Anything for you, mate,” said Sirius.

“Well - er, did you know your shirt’s inside out?” Lupin said suddenly.

Sirius looked comically surprised, and Rane had to put a hand over her mouth to suppress an involuntary giggle.

“Oh - blimey - well,” Sirius said rather ineptly. “That’s - I’ll fix - anyway, what was it you needed?”

“Has Rane come to see you?” Remus asked him. “She arrived for the evening and mentioned she wanted to talk to you.”

Rane had to admire Sirius’s poker face. “That right?”

“Yes, it is,” Remus agreed. “She arrived a bit ago, I’d have thought she’d have been to see you by now . . .”

“Yes, well,” Sirius said, shrugging. “Must’ve headed off to bed in the end, I reckon.”

Remus eyed him. “Look, Sirius . . . I’ve spoken to Arthur and Bill about this . . . you’ve been acting a bit odd lately.”

“Odd? How so?”

“Well - staying in your room, not speaking to anyone . . .” He gestured to the rash of clothes on the floor and the wine goblets on the bedside table. “Drinking, letting things get filthy . . . You don’t seem like yourself at all.”

“It’s probably the weather,” said Sirius. “I always get a bit mucky in the fall, you know . . .”

“I was not aware,” said Remus, lifting his eyebrows skeptically.

Sirius sighed. “Remus, if this is about picking up after myself, I’ll remind you that I’m not sixteen anymore, I’m quite capable -”

“No, no, that’s not it,” Remus told him, shaking his head.

“Well, what -?”

“Alright, well, then I suppose I shall just have out with it,” said Remus. “It’s Rane. Isn‘t it?”

For a moment Sirius only gaped at Lupin, utterly nonplussed. Rane, too, was staring at Lupin from behind the door, her mouth slightly agape.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” said Sirius at length.

“Oh, come off it,” said Remus, giving him a stern look. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. She comes around and you’re positively chipper, and as soon as she’s left again . . .”

Remus gestured around him pointedly.

“It’s obvious to everyone you’re in love with her,” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

Sirius made a small, insulted sound in his throat. “What? I’m not . . . What on earth are you on about, Moony, that’s ridiculous -!”

“Sirius, I’ve known you for going on two decades,” Remus said, as if this settled it.

Sirius sighed. Rane saw his eyes cut towards her hiding spot, his cheeks flushed.

“You’re in love with her,” said Remus again.

“Alright, alright, bloody hell,” said Sirius in a low voice. “Fine, maybe . . . Maybe just a bit of a crush, that’s all.”

A brief silence fell between them.

“I think you should talk to her tomorrow,” said Lupin at last.

“Talk to her about what, exactly?”

“Tell her how you feel,” said Lupin. “Seeing you at breakfast with her last weekend, I would be very surprised if Harry, Ron and Hermione aren’t wise to it too, to be quite honest with you . . .”

“Alright,” said Sirius, “I’ll tell her. If it makes you feel better.”

Lupin clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

“Right,” said Sirius, giving him an awkward smile. “’Course, Moony. Look, you don’t think Dumbledore is going to -?”

“Your secret is safe with me,” said Remus, drawing an X across his chest. 

“Right,” said Sirius again. “Right.”

“Sleep well,” said Lupin, striding to the door. “I shall expect the whole story tomorrow morning.”

“’Night,” said Sirius, and with this Lupin pulled the doorknob shut. Rane heard his footsteps echoing down the hall as she stood next to the wall, looking at Sirius and grinning.

“I don‘t think that could have possibly been any more uncomfortable for either of us,” she said.

Both of them burst out laughing.

“Well, if Moony noticed, I should think you‘ve cottoned on by now,” said Sirius quietly, watching her.

Rane leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth gently.

“Just . . . Come lay with me,” she said softly.

He did. And soon they were asleep, intertwined in one another’s arms while the crickets chirped ceaselessly outside.


	4. In Vino, Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and the rest of the Order decide to throw a few back; Sirius is confronted at last about his involvement with Rane.

“. . . An _absolutely_ terrible idea, Sirius, you could have really put yourself in a very bad position, and did you _see_ all the people there?! _What_ Dumbledore will say when he finds out about this . . .!”

Coming through the door were Mrs. Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks, both of them wearing traveling cloaks; behind them trotted a large, bear-like black dog. All three of them were damp from the light rain coming down in the London streets.

“. . . and really, I _do_ realize you’ve been cooped up in here, but think of the _risk_ of it!” Mrs. Weasley was going on, taking off her cloak.

The black dog paused in the hallway to shake himself off, showering Tonks and Mrs. Weasley. Tonks, who was wearing her usual spiky pink hair again now that the day’s work was through, groaned good-naturedly, laughing.

“Bugger off, Sirius, we’re already soaked through as it is . . .”

A flash of dim light cast the umbrella rack nearby into sharp shadowy contrast, and suddenly where the dog had stood, Sirius Black was now wringing out his long dark hair.

“Well?” Mrs. Weasley said impatiently, glaring at him. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Care for a pint, you two?” Sirius replied lightly. “I’m having one.”

Mrs. Weasley threw up her hands. “Oh, _honestly!”_

“Molly, will you give it a rest?” Sirius said, grinning at her in spite of himself. “It was just a bit of fun . . . I could hardly let Harry go to King’s Cross alone, could I -?”

“He was hardly alone,” said Mrs. Weasley shortly, brushing past Sirius. “Tonks and I were doing a fine job looking after the lot of them . . . Alastor will be just as furious as Dumbledore when he finds out . . .”

Sirius watched her stride off into the kitchen in exasperation. In spite of her anger with him, he was in excellent spirits this evening. Things had been . . . Well, they’d been better than they had been in years lately, no one could deny that much. He’d spent the afternoon escorting Harry, Ron, Hermione and the Weasleys to King’s Cross Station to board the train to Hogwarts, which meant he’d seen the outdoors beyond the terrace of Grimmauld Place for the first time in months.

And the journey had been tremendous, despite the rain; the familiar Platform 9 and ¾, the scores of Hogwarts students on their way to school, the laughter of the faces in the train windows as he’d bounded alongside the departing train, barking frantically, as jubilant as a child. He had seen Harry waving madly at him as they pulled away from the station, and even the regret of seeing his godson leaving his company for the next few months was a sweet sorrow.

And underlining all of this, catapulting him into exponential, intoxicating good cheer, was Rane. He’d seen her last just the day before; she had spent the night warm beside him, climbed on top of him an hour before sunrise, and made ardent love to him. As he had lay beneath her, his face transported with bliss, both hands gripping the firm flesh just above the swell of her hips, staring at her in perfect hypnosis, the idea had come to him that he had never seen anything as gorgeous as this girl, not in all his life. And when she had whispered in his ear that she would be back that evening, the feeling that arose in the center of his chest was beyond excitement; he could not wait to see her again. He had lay in his bed, spread-eagled, staring at his ceiling as the sun slowly rose, unable to believe that this all wasn’t some long and fanciful dream.

“Pints! Who’s having one?” he called loudly as he bounded into the kitchen.

“Me!” Tonks cried enthusiastically.

Sirius was pulling his wand as he went and waving it flamboyantly towards the cabinets. Remus Lupin, who was standing at the sink in the kitchen, ducked just in time to avoid being cuffed about the face by the cupboard door flying open. A moment later, a flurry of mugs were flying out of their own accord.

“Moony? You joining us?”

“Of course,” said Lupin, shutting the cupboard doors behind Sirius. “Draw Bill and Arthur up a few while you’re at it, they’re on their way . . .”

“And Mad-Eye!” Tonks called from the dining room.

“It’s been ages since I’ve done this spell,” Sirius said as the mugs lined themselves up on the table. “Here’s hoping it doesn’t come out too hoppy . . . Cervisia!”

The mugs filled themselves with ale at once, without so much as a single drop lost. Tonks clapped her hands together once, looking delighted.

“Blimey, I never knew you could do that!” she said, looking thoroughly impressed. “Who taught you?”

“James, I imagine,” said Lupin, smiling as he took the mug Sirius was offering him. “That’s just the kind of spell he would have loved . . .”

“The very same, indeed,” Sirius agreed heartily, handing out mugs. “Here, go on, Molly, have one -”

Molly backed away at once, clasping her hands at her bosom. “Oh, no, I couldn’t, I’ll not get a single thing done tomorrow!”

“Go on, Molly,” Tonks said, elbowing her. “One won’t hurt you.”

Mrs. Weasley accepted the mug from Sirius, eyeing it skeptically. “Oh, well, I suppose . . . You’re quite certain it’s safe, Sirius?”

“Not in the least bit, no,” Sirius muttered.

_“What?”_

“I think I heard the door, Mad-Eye must be here,” Sirius replied evasively.

They all heard the door shut in the corridor, and a moment later Mad-Eye Moody, Bill and Arthur Weasley were standing in the foyer, removing their soaked traveling cloaks. Mad-Eye’s magical blue eye was whirling around as per usual.

“Bloody mess outside, isn’t it?” said Bill, wringing out his ponytail. “Hullo, mum, Remus . . . Sirius, you look lively . . .”

“That beer?” said Mad-Eye with great interest, his magical eye swiveling between Sirius and the mugs on the table.

“What’s the occasion?” Mr. Weasley asked, shoving his wand into his pocket and removing a damp bowler hat from his balding head.

“Our good health,” Sirius replied, taking a seat and pulling his own beer towards him.

Mad-Eye had taken a seat and was sniffing his mug suspiciously. A moment later it seemed he had deemed it safe for consumption, because he took a large gulp.

“It’s not bad!” said Tonks appreciatively. “Well done, mate!”

“All in the wrist,” Sirius told her solemnly.

“Shall we have a toast, then?” Lupin said as Bill and Mr. Weasley took seats at the table with the rest of them.

“To the Order,” said Bill, raising his mug.

“THE ORDER!” the rest of them echoed, and then they were bringing their mugs together in the center of the table, slopping beer everywhere.  


AN HOUR later found the lot of them well on the way to drunk.

“. . . and then I told her I wanted to give her French - I mean, English - lessons,” Bill was saying amidst laughter, “and then a few weeks ago we started seeing each other, and it’s been brilliant . . .!”

“Fleur . . . _Fleur_ . . .” Lupin was shaking his head. “I dunno that I remember Fleur, have I met her?”

“Beauxbatons girl from the - _hic_ -Triwizard Tournament,” said Tonks.

Lupin’s face lit up. _“Oh!_ Oh, right . . .”

“Oh, I’m so happy for you, dear!” Mrs. Weasley said, patting Bill’s face affectionately. Her cheeks had picked up a definite shade of pink as she sipped on her third beer. “Sometimes Arthur and I, we just can’t believe none of ours have found themselves anyone yet, but Arthur tells me it’s just -”

“- a matter of time,” Mr. Weasley chimed in, and the two of them clutched each other and laughed like schoolgirls. Remus caught Sirius’s eye over his mug, grinning.

“I‘ve said it before and I‘ll say it again, never trust a veela,” Mad-Eye was saying disapprovingly, shaking his grizzled head. “They’re right clever, you know . . . They know just what your weakness is, and Bill here’s made his idiot self vulnerable -!”

“Don‘t be mad, Mad-Eye,” said Bill defensively. “She’s lovely, I quite like her. And anyways, she’s only a quarter veela, I’ve told you -”

“A quarter is enough to mix you up in the head,” Mad-Eye growled, tapping his temple knowingly.

“Don‘t worry Bill, it isn’t like you’re the only one who fancies the half-breeds,” said Tonks, winking at Sirius. “Isn’t that right, Sirius?”

“I dunno what you mean,” said Sirius, examining his fingernails.

“Oh come off it!” Tonks said, laughing. “Bit hard to ignore you making googly eyes at one another all the time, isn’t it?”

“What’s all this, then?” said Mr. Weasley, looking from Tonks to Sirius.

Sirius took a massive gulp of ale, swallowed, and set his mug down, saying nothing.

“Go on, Padfoot,” said Lupin, nudging Sirius and grinning at him. “No sense being shy about it . . .”

“Blimey, I didn’t really want to have this conversation yet,” Sirius muttered, rubbing his forehead and looking at Remus smirkingly.

“Shy?” Mrs. Weasley asked, looking between them curiously. “What’s he on about, Sirius?”

“They’re talking about . . . Well, Rane,” said Sirius, feeling uncharacteristically bashful despite being halfway through his fourth beer.

“Rane? Well, what about her? Are you . . .” Mrs. Weasley suddenly gasped, both her hands flying to her mouth. She stared at Sirius over her fingertips, her eyes wide.  
Sirius was nodding slowly.

“You and Rane?!” she breathed from behind her hands.

Sirius nodded some more. Mr. Weasley and Bill were laughing.

“You mean, you couldn’t tell?” said Tonks, laughing as well. “The way they stare at each other whenever they’re in the same room? Oh, it‘s revolting . . .!”

“She’s right, we could all tell, mate,” said Bill apologetically. “You’ve been on about one another for months now -”

Sirius spluttered at this injustice. _“Months?_ It hasn’t been _months_ -!”

“Oh, and what about you trying to pick her up every time she’s been at headquarters since she was inducted?” said Tonks, her eyebrows high. “And she’s worse, she can hardly keep herself together around you -!”

“Let’s not forget him bringing her up every fifteen minutes,” Remus added, grinning at Sirius. “We can hardly get through a conversation anymore without you mentioning her -”

“Blimey, we’re not engaged or anything, we’ve just been . . . Y’know, spending a bit more time together lately,” said Sirius, exasperated. “Come off it, you lot . . .”

“For how long?” Bill asked.

Sirius shrugged. “Dunno . . . A week or two? Maybe?”

“Well, at least it’s finally out in the open,” said Remus, sitting back.

“Sirius, you _do_ remember what Dumbledore said about being involved with other Order members, I trust,” said Molly, though she hadn’t stopped smiling delightedly even now. “He won’t thank you for it if he finds out . . .”

 _“When_ he finds out,” Bill corrected her grimly. “Doesn’t miss a trick, that one.”

Sirius sighed, fingering the rim of his mug. “I reckon I’ll have to have a talk with him at some point . . .”

Mad-Eye belched, shaking a finger in Sirius’s direction. “Guarantee he’ll put a stop to it.”

Sirius said nothing, but privately he thought that even Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to convince him to give this up. Not now.

“Oh, come off it, Mad-Eye, you great prat,” said Tonks, rolling her eyes. “He wouldn’t put a stop to it. Besides, Sirius stays at Headquarters, and Rane’s been sacked, so what’s the harm in it? Do you love her, Sirius?”

Sirius pondered this for a long moment. The honest answer, beyond hesitation, was yes. He’d fallen for her; there could be no question about it. Before he could give an answer, however, Mad-Eye interrupted.

“Hang on,” said Mad-Eye, looking suspiciously between Lupin and Sirius. “Who’re you talking about, now?”

“Rane,” said Lupin, “the Auror.”

“Five-nine, dark hair, long legs, mad pretty,” said Bill, ticking off on his fingers.

“Mad pretty,” Mr. Weasley agreed quietly. Mrs. Weasley swatted at him.

“Half-Elf,” Tonks added. “On her dad’s side.”

“Wade’s daughter?” said Mad-Eye, looking astonished.

Sirius and Lupin nodded.

Mad-Eye slammed his mug of beer down so hard Mrs. Weasley gave a startled squeak.

“Fudge fired her!” he said loudly. “Just a few days back! That right?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” said Lupin.

Mad-Eye surprised them all by throwing his head back and roaring laughter. Sirius looked from Lupin to Mr. Weasley, who were both looking as bewildered as him.

“Sirius,” said Mad-Eye, wiping at his normal eye. “She’s way out of your league! Give it a rest!”

“Out of my league?” Sirius said, giving Mad-Eye an affronted look. “Look, just because I’m a convict, mate, doesn’t mean -”

“Have you seen that girl? She’s not interested. Trust me . . .”

“Oh, she’s interested,” said Lupin.

Tonks looked at him in surprise. “How do _you_ know?”

“I know,” Lupin replied enigmatically.

“Remus, I’m telling you, _no one_ knows the mind of a woman,” said Bill sagely, gesturing at Lupin with his beer.

“Trust me,” said Lupin.

“Remus, what on earth makes you say that?” asked Mrs. Weasley. Her voice had taken on just a tad of a slur.

“Well, for a start, I saw the two of them kissing on the veranda a few weekends ago,” said Lupin wryly.

There was a shocked silence at this, broken only when Tonks belched loudly. Then, as if on cue, there was an instant uproar.

“You saw them doing _what!?”_

“Sirius, you really _are_ a dog -!”

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing, right under our noses -!”

“What were you doing on the veranda in the wee hours of the morning, Sirius Black?” Mrs. Weasley said loudly, giving Sirius a scathing look. “I don’t suppose you were smoking, were you . . .?”

Sirius cast her an injured look. _“Me?”_

“He was totally smoking,” said an amused voice.

The lot of them turned to find Rane leaning against the doorway, shaking the rain out of her long hair. The awkward silence that greeted her sudden arrival was almost comically abrupt.

“Oh - Rane - what a surprise!” said Mr. Weasley, standing and offering Rane a mug. “Come in, come in, join us!”

“Cheers,” said Rane, taking the mug and looking around at them curiously. She stared from face to face, a bemused grin playing about her mouth. “Are you guys drunk?”

“Nooo,” said Lupin, shaking his head.

“’Course - _hic_ \- not,” said Tonks, giggling.

“I am,” said Mad-Eye, and burst out laughing. Rane couldn’t help but laugh herself.

Sirius, meanwhile, had pointed his wand at Rane’s mug and muttered the spell he’d used earlier; it was instantly full of ale.

“Alright, Rane?” he asked, looking at her.

Rane nodded, returning his gaze, feeling the familiar tickle in her belly at the sight of him. “Great, yeah.”

“Come have a sit,” Sirius said.

“Room over there?”

Sirius moved a few inches over obligingly. Rane shook off her cloak and took the spot next to him, reaching over and squeezing his thigh at once.

“You look lovely,” said Sirius, looking over at her.

“So do you,” Rane replied, unable to suppress a smile.

She was suddenly, acutely aware that the entire rest of the table were watching this exchange alertly. She turned, looking at them, bemused.

“What?” she said blankly.

“Oh, you two are vile,” said Bill, rolling his eyes.

“We - what? We are not!” Rane looked at him in bewilderment. “What d’you mean?”

“No sense beating around the bush about it,” said Mad-Eye, fixing his good eye on Rane. “We know you two’ve fallen madly in love with each other and have taken to sneaking about snogging whilst no one’s looking.”

Rane flushed crimson. She looked from Mad-Eye to Mrs. Weasley to Lupin, all of whom looked amused. Finally she turned to look at Sirius, who was hiding his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking gently with laughter.

“Oh, fuck,” she said, and took an enormous gulp of beer.


	5. Arthur's Plight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Weasley suffers an attack on duty at the Ministry of Magic. Harry and the Weasleys are sent to Grimmauld Place while the situation is resolved; meanwhile, Rane has been missing for a month, and Sirius is beginning to worry.

  
“SIRIUS! Sirius Black!”

Sirius Black didn’t hear his name being called right away. He was lying on the sofa on the ground floor in a very empty Grimmauld Place, stretched out on his back, one arm behind his head, a worked-over bottle of firewhiskey opened on the table beside him. It was quite late - well past midnight - but the hour found him still in his day clothes, notably unshaven and quite dejected. A half-empty glass was balanced on his chest.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been left to his own devices since that September, when he’d escorted Harry and the rest of them to King’s Cross. Indeed, the numerous members of the Order of the Phoenix were constantly coming and going, leaving him with only his hippogriff, Buckbeak, for company (and Kreacher, of course, but not even an idiot would call his presence companionable . . .). And though he didn’t necessarily like solitude, it did come naturally to him after so many years in Azkaban, followed by his career as a convict. Indeed, it wasn’t a desire for the company of the general populace he craved; it was the company of one particular person. Someone he hadn’t seen in almost a month.

Rane had been absent for quite some time. Though he didn’t know it (indeed, no one except Rane and Dumbledore did), she had been in America on Dumbledore’s orders, acting as an envoy to the Elves there, and this undertaking had kept her out of the country for the entirety of November. Sirius had not heard from her even once, and he found her absence daunting.  
Had she taken a powder on him? Met someone else? He pondered this bleakly, sipping on his firewhiskey, his brow furrowed. He was more cognizant than ever that he was trapped in Grimmauld Place these days, unable to pursue any semblance of a normal life; a girl like Rane needed someone who had that capacity, didn’t she? Wasn’t it only natural that she would seek that? She was young, beautiful, clever . . . And he, Sirius, what was he, at the end of it? It seemed that after everything, he had simply traded one prison for another; Azkaban, or Grimmauld Place, it all came to the same thing, didn’t it? And that wasn’t all . . . He had become more cognizant of his appearance in the recent weeks, and in truth he was unimpressed. He was far too thin, even now, living indoors on a steady diet of Molly’s excellent cooking. There were streaks of gray in his black hair, and the lines on his face had become difficult to ignore. Maybe she really _had_ met someone else . . .

 _She wouldn‘t have done_ , Sirius thought, and rubbed his face in frustration. Easily said, wasn’t it? Here he was, his confidence waning alarmingly, on week four of not having heard so much as a word from her. And the worst part was the pining he felt for her, the almost physical homesickness for her presence, the way his thoughts seemed to always come full circle back to her. He hadn’t felt like this in ages, not since well before Azkaban. And the weirdest part, the bit that really baffled him? It had happened so quickly, so suddenly. He had met her through the Order, and like any man would be he was taken with her - her beauty, her brilliance, the whole package - but then he had suddenly found himself experiencing an entirely new sensation, some bright ember-glow of emotion that he at first refused to acknowledge for what it was. And then they had spent the night together, and it had seemed that -

“Sirius . . .!”

Sirius cocked his head, listening. He thought he’d heard . . . But no, Phineas wouldn’t be awake at this hour . . .

“Sirius Black!” Very insistent now. Petulant, too.

Sirius sat up, catching his glass before it could tumble to the floor. Yes, that was definitely Phineas, no doubt about it. He stood up and strode towards the stairway.

“Phineas?” he called as he thundered up the staircase, holding the railing. “What is it?”

He reached the landing and opened the door to the room Harry and Ron had shared over the summer, casting a somewhat wistful look at the empty beds as he went to Phineas Nigellus’s portrait.

“Oh, there you are,” said the empty portrait that hung on the wall, sounding bored. “I thought for a moment you might be passed out in a drunken stupor someplace . . .”

“Lovely,” Sirius murmured. “What do you need? It’s quite late . . .”

“Well, there’s no need to be rude,” said the portrait haughtily. “Really, I’m only tying to help -”

“What is it, Phineas?” Sirius said loudly, feeling a flash of irritation. 

The portrait issued a little snort. “Temperamental, are we? Very well . . . A message from Dumbledore. You are to be informed that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured. His children and Harry Potter will be arriving shortly.”

“Arthur’s been hurt?” Sirius said, alarmed. “What - is he -?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the portrait curtly. “Now, I must be getting along, if there’s nothing else . . .”

“Right - right, well tell Dumbledore I’d be delighted to have them,” said Sirius. “And if there’s any news, be sure to . . .”

But Phineas had already gone. Sirius stood looking at the blank canvas for a moment, then swept back towards the door, his mind whirling.

He had not even reached the landing when there was a loud crash in the basement kitchen; Sirius heard what sounded like something large and metal clanging to the ground. Kreacher was creeping near the doorway, his back to Sirius, peering into the gloomy kitchen.

“Back again, the blood traitor brats, is it true their father’s dying . . .?” Kreacher was mumbling.

“OUT!” Sirius bellowed, and aimed a kick at Kreacher as he strode towards the kitchen. Kreacher cringed against the blow and then slunk quickly away, staring malevolently over his shoulder at Sirius.

In the kitchen, Sirius found Harry Potter, Ginny, Ron, Fred and George Weasley. They were all in a tangled heap on the floor; a little ways off, gleaming benignly in the dim candlelight, was an unfamiliar kettle that Sirius had no doubt was a Portkey, probably enchanted by Dumbledore.

“What’s going on?” he said, offering a hand to Ginny. “Phineas Nigellus says Arthur’s been badly hurt!”

“Ask Harry,” said Fred.

“Yeah, I want to hear this for myself,” George agreed.

Sirius turned his eyes on Harry, who looked pale and anxious. Harry opened his mouth, but before he could speak there was a loud knock at the front door.

“Who’s that?” Ron asked, looking uneasy. “D’you reckon Dumbledore -?”

“No,” said Sirius. “Can’t be. Must be Remus . . .”

“I’ll get it,” said Ginny, brushing past Sirius and striding to the door.

“Are you alright?” Sirius asked Harry in a low voice. “You look bad -”

“Well I’m not good,” Harry said waspishly.

“Is everyone here?” a voice said from behind Sirius.

Sirius whirled about. Rane was striding into the room, wearing a rain-soaked riding cloak, her long dark hair glistening with moisture. As she came into the kitchen, she flung back her hood, throwing her face into chiseled contrast against the candlelight, and for a moment her profound beauty seemed to suck all the air out of the room. Sirius was so astounded to see her there that for a few seconds he only stared.

“Dumbledore wouldn’t say what happened to Arthur,” said Rane, looking around at all of them. “Is he alright?”  
  
“Dunno,” said Ginny nervously.

“Harry was just about to fill us in,” said Fred, looking at Harry expectantly.

Harry looked around at all of them, looking uncertain.

“I - I had a sort of - of vision thing,” he said haltingly. “I saw Ron’s dad, he was in this giant room full of weird shiny things, and there was a massive snake, and I - er, the snake attacked him . . . And, well, that was it,” he finished uncertainly.

“A vision,” said Rane, nonplussed.

“I know how it sounds,” Harry said, casting her an impatient look. “Look, I know, okay? He’s hurt. Dumbledore and McGonagall believed me, so why won’t you lot?”

“This has happened before,” said Sirius, looking at her.

Rane shook her head. She knew about Harry, of course - who didn’t? - but this aspect of his personality was new to her. She’d only known him since that summer, which they’d spent together at Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore had told her that he was unusual in many ways, but she never thought “unusual” meant something like _this._

“Alright,” she conceded after a moment. She wasn’t sure how she felt about five kids being sent away from Hogwarts based on a dream, but she trusted Dumbledore’s judgment, and in any case there were more pressing issues at hand. “How bad is he hurt? Do you know, any of you?”

“Bad,” said Harry. He hesitated, then added in a low voice, “there was blood. Lots of it. And I think . . . Something might be broken.”

Fred, George, Ginny and Ron were all still staring at Harry, whey-faced and silent. Sirius wasn’t sure, but he thought there was something accusatory in their faces; Harry, it seemed, must have noticed it too, because he was determinedly looking at his shoes.

“Is mum here?” asked Fred, looking at Sirius at last.

“She probably doesn’t even know what happened yet,” said Sirius. “The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore is letting Molly know now.”

“We’ve got to go to St. Mungo’s,” said Ginny desperately. “Sirius, can you lend us some cloaks or something -?”

“Hang on, you can’t go tearing off to St. Mungo’s!” said Sirius.

“’Course we can,” said Fred, looking surprised. “He’s our dad.”

“And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?” Sirius demanded.

“What does that matter?” George said angrily.

“It matters because we don’t want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!” Sirius retorted hotly. “Have you got any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?”

Fred and George were glaring at Sirius; Ron was still pale and silent.

“Someone else could have told us,” said Ginny haltingly. “We could have heard it from someone other than Harry . . .”

“Like who?” said Sirius impatiently. “Listen, your dad’s been hurt while on duty for the Order, the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it’s happened, you could seriously damage the Order’s -”

“We don’t care about the dumb Order!” Fred shouted.

“It’s our dad dying we’re talking about!” George yelled.

“Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won’t thank you for messing things up for the Order!” said Sirius angrily in his turn. “This is how it is — this is why you’re not in the Order — you don’t understand — there are things worth dying for!”

“Easy for you to say, stuck here!” bellowed Fred. “I don’t see you risking your neck!”

“Okay, everyone needs to calm down,” said Rane loudly, taking a step forward and placing a hand lightly on Sirius’s back. He had gone very pale and for an alarming moment she was almost certain he was going to abandon all pretense and hit Fred. “Listen, I know you guys are worried about your dad, but we have to stay here and wait. Going to St. Mungo’s won’t help and it might make things way worse. It’s not going to do anyone any good to get Arthur or Dumbledore or anybody else in trouble -”

“We don‘t care if Dumbledore gets in trouble!” Fred said loudly, glaring at her.

“We don’t have to do anything, we’re of age!” George agreed.

“Which is why you need to do the responsible thing,” said Rane steadily, “and go sit down and chill out until we find out more about what’s going on.”

Fred and George stood glaring at Rane and Sirius, looking mutinous. Ginny, however, took a seat on the chair nearest the fire, and Ron made a gesture somewhere between a shrug and a nod and planted himself on the sofa. The twins continued to glare at Rane and Sirius for a moment, then they sat beside Ginny at last.

“That’s right,” said Sirius encouragingly. “Come on, let’s all . . . Let’s all have a drink while we wait. _Accio Butterbeer_!”

Several bottles of Butterbeer came soaring out of the pantry and skidded to a halt on the table. Rane noticed the scant remains of a solitary meal, a mostly empty glass and a bottle of half-finished firewhiskey. Harry was sitting opposite Ron, looking vastly uncomfortable.

“Can I have a word?” Sirius said to her quietly. “In the kitchen?”

Rane followed him into the kitchen, unzipping the hoody she had worn beneath her cloak and removing it in spite of the chill within the house itself. She hopped nimbly onto the countertop, her legs crossed, looking at Sirius. He stood in the unforgiving light of the kitchen, and for the first time since she’d arrived she was able to get a really good look at him. He looked less than vital this evening; despite the hour, he was still clad in jeans, and he looked as though he hadn’t shaven in some time. His long black hair had taken on a distinctly matted appearance.

“Look, what do you know about all of this?” Sirius asked her. “What did Dumbledore tell you?”

“Nothing, really,” she said, shaking her head. “He said Arthur had been hurt while he was on duty, that he’d sent Harry and the Weasleys here to stay with you . . .” She leaned forward slightly, dropping her voice. “Sirius, listen, do you know where Arthur was stationed tonight?”

Sirius nodded grimly.

“How are we going to explain what he was doing there?” said Rane, still hushed. “Even Aurors aren’t allowed to be on that floor without a pretty damn good reason -”

“Dumbledore’ll get it sorted,” said Sirius. He began to pace back and forth, his hands deep in his pockets. “I just wish someone would tell us something, his kids are worried half to death . . .”

“Molly will be wherever he is by now,” said Rane. “She’ll tell us what’s up as soon as she can, I’m sure she will.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Sirius shot at her, sounding suddenly sharp.

Rane blinked. “I . . . well, Dumbledore told me to -”

“So that’s it then, you just show up here on Dumbledore’s orders after a month?” Sirius asked her, his voice rising a notch. “After not hearing a word from you for weeks?”

Rane stared at Sirius. He stared back at her angrily. All his woe, all his heartsickness for her that had been accumulating over the past month was welling up in a sudden wave. He could feel his heart beating much too fast beneath his ribs; he wished bitterly for his glass of firewhiskey. Make it a double, in fact.

“I was on duty,” said Rane.

“For a month?” said Sirius. “No one’s seen you or heard from you since Halloween.”

“Dumbledore sent me to America as a diplomat to the Elves. I had to stay until I’d met with them all. There are dozens of cities, Sirius, dozens of them, all across the country, I mean it took me two weeks just to get west of Oklahoma . . .”

“It wouldn’t have taken much to write, would it have -?”

“You know I couldn’t have done that. If an owl was intercepted, Sirius, it would have been both of our asses, you _know_ that . . . I had to leave as soon as he told me to go. The same night. I didn’t have time to -”

“You didn’t have time to tell me you were going to be away? It would have taken five minutes, Rane -”

“You don’t have to yell -”

“I’M NOT YELLING!” Sirius shouted. In the living room, the quiet conversation among the Weasleys and Harry halted abruptly.

“The only people that knew where I went were Dumbledore and me,” said Rane. She was trying very hard not to let the hurt she felt at seeing Sirius angry with her show in her face. “He didn’t want anyone to know, Sirius, I didn’t have a choice.”

“No one?” said Sirius heatedly. “Not even me?”

Rane opened her mouth and then closed it. She hopped down from the counter lightly and stood there, her hands still on the edge, looking at him.

“I wanted to tell you,” said Rane quietly. “I just . . . I couldn’t -”

“You know, is that it?” Sirius went on. Now that he was in his stride, he couldn’t have stopped himself from airing all the pain he’d felt over Rane this past month even if he’d wanted to. Even the wounded expression on her face didn’t discourage him.

“Sirius, come on -”

“Is that what this is? I don’t mean anything to you? You didn’t care about telling me you’d be away for weeks because I don’t matter? Is that it?”

“No!”

“You think I’ve had it easy here, stuck at headquarters with Buckbeak and Kreacher, just - just hoping you’d turn up?!” Sirius went on, glaring at her. “D’you have any idea what I’ve been doing? Wondering where you’d gone to, if you’d just decided to never speak to me again? Thinking you’d _lied_ to me -!”

“HEY!” Rane shouted.

Sirius’s mouth snapped shut at once, taken aback by the wrath in her voice. Rane stood before him, her face hard and her eyes blazing, looking as angry as he’d ever seen her.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice now deadly quiet, “don’t accuse me of lying to you. I never once lied to you.”

Sirius gaped at her, silent.

“I wanted to tell you where I was going,” Rane went on. “I wanted to write you every fucking day while I was gone. But Dumbledore said I wasn’t to contact anyone. Specifically you.”

“Why me?” Sirius spluttered.

“Why do you think?” Rane replied evenly.

A moment of silence fell between them, both of them staring at each other, breathing hard. Rane stared at him, saying nothing. Several seconds passed between them, the silence broken only by the crackle of the fire in the livingroom.

“Sirius, I care about you,” said Rane in just more than a whisper. Her eyes were very bright in the dim kitchen. “I . . . I care about you a lot. Okay? And that’s not . . . Not easy for me to admit. Alright?”

Sirius said nothing. He continued to look at her, breathing quickly.

“Well, say _something,”_ said Rane in earnest, looking devastated.

“D’you reckon I’d be shouting if I didn’t care about you too?” said Sirius quietly.

Before he could say anything else, Rane was crossing the kitchen quickly towards him, and he had a moment to wonder if she was going to hit him before she grasped his face in her hands and pressed her mouth hard into his. And then he was tasting her after such a long time, and all the emotion he had harnessed inside of himself came out in a rush. He pulled her closer to him, holding her tight, relishing the warmth of her lips, the smell of her hair, the heat of her breath.

“Come on,” Rane said, breaking apart from him. “Enough of this shit, we should be worrying about the Weasleys right now, not our . . . Our dumb little . . . ”

She gestured vaguely between the two of them with her hands. Sirius nodded, feeling a bit shaky as he followed her out into the living room.

Ginny was curled on a chair like a cat, her eyes wide open, the firelight reflected within them. Fred and George were sitting bolt upright on the sofa, both of them clearly trying very hard to stay awake. Harry’s glasses were alight with the firelight as he sat in the silence, looking positively miserable.

Rane sat on the loveseat opposite Fred and George, and Sirius surprised her by sitting beside her. She glanced at him in surprise, but he wasn’t looking at her; he was looking at Harry, who seemed not to have even noticed them coming in.

“Everything alright?” Ginny asked Sirius, craning her neck to look at him. “We heard you shouting . . .”

“Everything’s good,” said Sirius. “You lot okay?”

“Never better,” muttered Fred. Beside him, George’s head was drooping onto his shoulder; a moment later it snapped back up and he stared around him wearily.

A flash of fire suddenly erupted in the center of the room, and Sirius leapt to his feet at once. A single, vibrant plume was floating down from where the flash of flame had been, along with a scroll of parchment.

“Fawkes!” Sirius said, snatching the parchment up quickly. “This isn’t Dumbledore’s handwriting - it must be from Molly -”

Fred grabbed the parchment at once and tore it open, reading it aloud: “ _Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo’s now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum_.”

George looked around at all of them.

“’Still alive,’” he murmured. “But that makes it sound . . .”

A very bleak moment passed between them. Ron, his face ashen, was staring at the letter as if hoping it might speak words of comfort to him. George snatched the letter from Fred’s hand and read it himself. Harry, who was holding his Butterbeer in a trembling hand, watched this all unfold with something like dread.

“St. Mungo’s is great,” Rane said, trying to sound bracing. “They’ll take good care of your dad . . .”

No one responded. Rane fell silent.

THE night wore on. No one said much . . . It was clear the Weasleys were miserable with anxiety, and Harry, much like Rane and Sirius, was plainly feeling like an intruder on their grief. Twice, as Rane watched him sipping his Butterbeer, his hands were shaking so badly that he slopped it all over the table, something no one took the slightest notice of.  
Sirius suggested once, without any real conviction, that they all ought to go to bed; the Weasleys’ disgust was answer enough. The candle on the table burned on, the wax melting around the wick. Kreacher did not show up to tend the fire, which Rane got up a few times to stoke herself, feeling the chill of Grimmauld Place creeping in.

Fred and George did not last much longer; both of them were dozing, their heads on their shoulders, before too much longer, exhausted no doubt by both their worry and the lateness of the hour. Ginny remained curled on her chair, blinking in the firelight.

At some point, as the clock in the hallway ticked loudly, Sirius reached out, quite unabashed, and took her hand, pulled it into his lap, and wrapped it in both of his. Rane looked at this display, bewildered, then up at him. He was looking back down at her As she stared up at him, he leaned over and placed a kiss in the center of her forehead.  
Harry, who was still sitting by the fire, was watching them. He looked exhausted, his chin in his hand, his hair mussier than ever. He met Rane’s eyes and surprised her by offering her a wan smile. She smiled back at him, feeling a combination of exhaustion and relief. He hadn’t leapt up and begun shouting at her . . . That was a good sign, wasn’t it . . .?  
Rane had allowed her eyes to slip shut, her head resting on Sirius’s shoulder, when the door banged open at ten past five by Ron’s watch. Everyone leapt to their feet at once. Molly Weasley, looking haggard, was walking into the room. She looked pale and exhausted, but she gave them all a small smile.

“He’s going to be alright,” she said. “He’s sleeping, we can all go and visit him in a while. Bill’s sitting with him now, he’s going to take the morning off work.”  
Fred fell back into his chair with his hands over his face. George and Ginny got up, walked swiftly over to their mother, and hugged her. Ron gave a very shaky laugh and downed the rest of his butterbeer in one.

“Thank you for looking after them,” Molly said, looking at Sirius and Rane. “Both of you.”

“Shit, anybody woulda,” Rane said, surprised. “Are you okay?”

Molly sighed deeply. She was taking her traveling cloak off one arm at a time, as if even the slightest motions were taxing. “I’m just happy he’s not . . . Well . . . Well, he was very lucky,” she finished. “We all were.”

“Breakfast!” said Sirius loudly, looking positively joyous. “Where is that accursed house elf . . . Kreacher! KREACHER!”

Kreacher didn’t appear, however. Sirius sighed, and looked around at the group before him.

“Oh, forget it, then,” he said, counting the heads. “Let’s see, breakfast for eight - bacon and eggs, I think, and some toast and tea . . . Will you stay, Rane?”

Rane looked at Sirius, weary and relieved. He was standing there before the fire, his eyes lively, looking impossibly handsome, the orange firelight brimming around him, his mouth curved into a smile.

“I love you,” she said. She had said it, loudly, before she had even realized she was going to.

An abrupt silence fell in the room. Fred, George, Ginny and Harry all looked around at her in complete surprise. Molly, her cloak folded over one arm, looked around at Rane as well.

Sirius’s smile was fading slowly. He remained where he was, staring at her.

“You do?” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” said Rane. “Yeah, I do.”

Rane had never seen the expression she now saw on Sirius’s face before. It was more than elation; it was respite, liberated, mingled with pure happiness. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were dancing.

“I love you too,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

She went to him, and Sirius sighed roughly and pulled her to him, embracing her tightly, burying his face in her fragrant hair. Rane remained in his arms, motionless, fighting very hard against a flurry of tears that wanted to wash down her cheeks and into the rough material of Sirius’s shirt. It had taken more courage that Sirius would have believed for her to say what she’d just said to him, and she was horribly afraid.

“Well, it’s about time!” Molly said, sounding happy in spite of herself. “Bravo!”

“Think we’re a bit out of the loop, are we?” Ginny said, sounding amused.

Rane squeezed her eyes shut and pulled away from Sirius, looking up at him. His own eyes were bright, too. He was beaming at her now, his grin impossibly brilliant, in contrast to his swimming eyes.

“A bit yeah,” he said, and swiped surreptitiously at his eyes.

“We can hear the whole story over breakfast, can’t we?” said Ron. “I’m starving, we’ve been up all bloody night . . .”


	6. Questions, Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane is accosted by the Weasleys, while Sirius and Molly busy themselves in the kitchen. Harry does some thinking.

Rane had never seen Sirius in such a good mood, not even the morning after their first night together. It was not, she felt certain, only her brash proclamation before the rest of them that had achieved this, however; Molly had asked Sirius if they could remain at Grimmauld Place, which was far closer to St. Mungo’s than the Burrow, for the duration of Christmas. Sirius’s answer - _The more the merrier!_ \- had been full of such obvious sincerity and good cheer that Molly had thrown on an apron and helped him with breakfast.

As the good smells of bacon and eggs wafted in from the kitchen, Rane sat with Ron, Fred, George and Ginny who, now that the immediacy of their father’s danger had passed, were all quite keen to get the details on Sirius’s affiliation with her.

“Why didn’t you or Sirius ever tell any of us?” Ginny was asking, looking affronted. “We were here all summer, we saw you loads of times . . .”

“Well, I mean, it wasn’t all summer, we didn’t . . . we didn’t, um . . .” Rane struggled with the apposite jargon, not wanting to blurt out what her traitorous mind was insisting upon, which was _fuck._ “We didn’t . . . you know . . . Not until late in the summer. August, I think it was . . .”

Oh, this was weird. Rane was presently sitting Indian-style on the floor in front of the sofa beside the embers of the fire, feeling absolutely out of her element. She had never had occasion to explain to a flock of teenagers the circumstances that led up to her romantic relationship with someone (all the while very carefully avoiding the word sex and all of its affiliates, of course). She didn’t think Molly would thank her for delving into the lewd minutiae of how it had all really started, so she was trying her damndest to paint a hideously chaste picture for them.

The room was a tad nippy now that the fire had burnt itself out, but Molly had opened a shade near the top of the stairs and the morning light outside was streaming in, giving Grimmauld Place an almost cheery feel. To Rane’s further delight, sometime between her arrival and Molly’s, the rain had turned to snow, and the London streets were white with it already. The fluffy white coating on the ledge outside the window Molly had opened made her appreciate for the first time how near Christmas was.

“Okay, so tell it to us again,” said Fred, twirling a finger in the air, “because it’s not quite adding up yet. You couldn’t sleep, so you walked outside, and Sirius was…” He cast a furtive look over his shoulder, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, _“smoking_ _a cigarette_ . . . How did mum like that, by the way?”

“Bet she was ecstatic,” said George, snickering.

“I dunno whether she was or not, to be honest,” Rane said. “When she finally found out, she was kind of drunk, so . . .”

“Bloody hell, I never knew mum got drunk,” said Ron, looking impressed and glancing towards the kitchen, where Sirius and Molly could be heard talking, both of them sounding positively jolly. “Most I’ve seen her do is a champagne at Christmas . . .”

“Don’t forget when Aunt Muriel comes to visit,” said Ginny, making a face.

“Trust me, that woman can put ‘em down,” said Rane, thinking of Molly keening delightedly about she and Sirius over her third or fourth beer and giggling with Arthur.

“Anyways, stay on topic,” Fred said smartly. “You met out on the veranda -”

“Yeah,” said Rane. “You guys were all asleep, and we just . . . Well, talked for a while. And then we . . . Well . . . I dunno, made out, a little,” Rane finished in a rush, feeling her cheeks burning.

“A _little?”_ said Ginny, her eyebrows high. “How do you make out a _little?”_

Rane sighed, her head rolling back on her shoulders. “Jesus, you guys . . .”

“Look, no one makes out a little,” Ginny went on sagely. “Like . . . You either do or you don’t, right?”

“Wait a minute, how do you know?” said Ron suspiciously.

“Because I’m not eight, Ronald,” said Ginny disdainfully.

“So you made out a little,” Ron went on, scowling at Ginny.

“And?” said George and Fred together.

“And that was it!” Rane replied, inspecting her fingernails.

“Oh, come _off_ it!” said Fred, slapping his thigh and looking highly amused. George was laughing openly beside him. “You really expect us to believe you just kissed him and that was that?”

“Yeah, what do we look like?” George agreed, shaking his head.

“You guys, here’s the thing; sometimes, when you’re an adult, that’s all that happens, you just, you know -” Rane began, but Fred cut her off.

“Look,” he said, leaning over as if preparing to explain something complex to a layman, “here’s the thing: we’re all fully aware that for a long bloody time now, Sirius has been . . . Oh, how would you put it, George?”

“Virtuous,” said George, nodding sagely.

_“George!”_

“Virtuous, yes,“ Fred went on as if Rane hadn’t spoken, “what with Azkaban, and then being on the run for two or three years there, and now stuck here in Grimmauld Place . . .”

“Dunno about when he was on the run, though, do we?” said Ron thoughtfully.

“Fair point,” said George, and raised his voice to a shout. “Oy! Sirius!”

“Oy what?” Sirius called from the adjacent room.

“Did you get a leg over when you were on the run?”

What sounded like a large pan and several pieces of cutlery clanged loudly to the floor in the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable sound of Sirius bursting into laughter.

“GEORGE WEASLEY!” Molly shrieked.

“And that’s a no, I reckon,” said George with an air of having finished a piece of important business.

Molly came into the livingroom, holding a kettle in one hand and a flagon of Butterbeer in the other, a towel thrown over her shoulder and her face bright red. Rane, Fred, Ginny and Ron were all doubled over with laughter.

“What on earth has gotten into you?” she said sharply, looking appalled. “Asking Sirius whether he’d . . . positively vulgar . . . really, George, what are you lot in here talking about that would cause such a -?”

“We were just asking Rane about how she and Sirius started it up,” said Fred, wiping at his streaming eyes.

“Oh, would you just leave her be!” Molly snapped at him. “It’s none of your nevermind what she and Sirius get up to when you’re not around!”

“Mum’s right,” Ginny remarked, still giggling. “You lot really are the worst.”

“What does Harry think?” Ron asked suddenly. “Where is he, anyway?”

While the rest of them were in the livingroom grilling Rane, Harry was in the kitchen, attempting to help Sirius and Molly with breakfast. In truth, he was so full of anxiety over Arthur’s attack and the part he had played in it that he was quite immune to the good cheer around him (and for their parts, both Molly and Sirius seemed far too preoccupied to notice). And now, compounding it all, was this . . . This _thing_ between Sirius and Rane.

Truth be told, he thought as he pulled plates down from the cupboard and dusted them off with the hem of his sleeve, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. And the worst part was that he hadn’t seen any of the signs that something was amiss - signs he was certain had been there from the get-go for someone clever enough to notice. Hermione had noticed, after all . . . had it only been September that she had mentioned that she thought there might be something going on between them?

Harry remembered the occasion quite well, and bitterly wished he‘d listened more closely; there he’d been, with Hermione and Ron at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, poring together over the Daily Prophet for any sign of Voldemort’s activity, as usual. There had been an article that morning about Rane losing her job as an Auror at the Ministry, something about the Wizengamot deciding her being a half-Elf was a bit too dicey for their tastes. The Prophet had spun it to make it sound like she was a bit unhinged and had been spying on Fudge on behalf of the Elves; Harry, however, had found the entire tale felt more than a little contrived and sensational, and no one knew better than he did that the Prophet could be quite capable of mendacity.

 _You reckon she’s really been spying on the Ministry?_ Ron had murmured skeptically.

 _Of course not_ , Hermione had replied as if this should have been obvious. _Fudge wants to discredit her, that’s all. Same thing he’s done to Harry . . ._

 _I think it’s a load of rubbish,_ Harry had said heatedly to them, throwing the paper down in disgust. _Rane’s excellent, she’s not a spy!_

 _Not for the Elves, at least,_ Ron muttered with a scowl, _Fudge must’ve cottoned onto how close she is to Dumbledore, or something . . ._

 _Lucky for Fudge he had an excuse to sack her,_ Hermione had said darkly. _I bet he’d love it if he could get rid of everyone else in league with Dumbledore so easily . . ._

 _D’you reckon she’ll keep working for the you-know-what now she‘s not an Auror anymore?_ Ron had said under his breath.

 _I think that even if she wasn’t still working for them, she’d still keep close to Headquarters_ , said Hermione mysteriously, picking up the Prophet and examining it.

Harry and Ron had exchanged a look.

 _What d’you mean by that?_ Harry had asked her, bewildered. _Dumbledore’s bound to have stuff for her to do, Lupin says she’s an envoy for the Elves -_

 _Oh I don’t think it’s a question of Dumbledore finding things for her to do_ , Hermione replied, still in that same lofty tone of voice. _I think she’s got other things keeping her around._

 _What are you on about?_ Ron had asked her, looking mystified.

Hermione had rolled her eyes, folding the newspaper and lying it on the table

 _Oh, isn’t it obvious?_ she’d snapped. _Rane’s in love with Snuffles!_

Harry and Ron had stared at her.

 _In love with Snuffles?_ Ron had snorted. _No way . . . Hermione, you’re off your rocker . . ._

 _I’m quite sure of it, actually,_ Hermione had replied mulishly. _And if either of you had paid any attention this summer, you’d agree!_

 _Paid attention to_ what? Harry had asked her, baffled.

 _Okay_ , Hermione had said, leaning over towards them. _You know how she was sleeping with Ginny and I in our room?_

Harry and Ron had nodded.

  
_Remember that morning she said she’d woken up in the middle of the night and then come back to bed?_

Harry and Ron had nodded again.

 _Well_ , Ginny and I both agree, Hermione had said, _that she_ never came back to bed _that night. Neither of us saw her. Both of us woke up first and went downstairs, and then Rane came down_ afterwards.

 _So?_ said Ron, gnawing on a strip of bacon and looking bored.

 _So_ , said Hermione impatiently, _don’t you think it’s a bit odd that she came downstairs after she was supposed to have come back into our room with us? Shouldn’t one of us have seen her?_

 _Blimey,_ Ron said, sitting back.

 _Okay, so what are you suggesting?_ said Harry. _That she and Snuffles . . . I dunno, spent the night together or something?_

 _Exactly_ , Hermione said, folding her arms on the table. _And when we were at breakfast, Snuffles mentioned that they’d been on the porch together. And when Ron asked them if they’d snogged, didn’t you see how they reacted?_

  
_I wasn’t_ serious, _Hermione, I was just taking the mickey,_ Ron said, lifting his eyebrows at her. _Honestly, I thought you of all people’d have picked up on that . . ._

Okay, well . . . Well, so what? Harry said, a bit disconcerted. That doesn’t mean she’s in love with him -

 _No,_ Hermione agreed, _but they way they were behaving that morning . . . Not just Snuffles, but Rane too . . . Like they had something to hide -_

 _So now you think Snuffles is in love with her too?_ Harry asked skeptically.

 _I dunno_ , Hermione had said pensively, _but, well, just think about it. He’s been alone a really long time, and Rane is . . . Well, you’ve seen her, she’s quite pretty . . ._

 _You’re mad,_ said Ron, cramming the rest of his kipper into his mouth.

 _Yeah, Snuffles . . . I dunno, he wouldn’t_ . . . Harry had begun, casting about for a reason why this couldn’t be. _She’s way too young,_ he’d finished at last, lamely.

 _Suit yourselves,_ Hermione had said, gathering her books and standing up haughtily before sweeping off to Potions. Harry had drawn the discarded Prophet over to him as she hurried off and Ron continued to stuff as much bacon as he could into his mouth before his first lesson began.

**Half-Elf Suspected of Espionage and Removed from Auror’s Office at Wizengamot’s Appeal Spotted in New York on Unknown Business**

Beneath this rather lurid headline had been a photo of Rane. Harry had examined it, really looking at her for the first time. In the photo, she was sitting half-turned on a barstool in a dark pub, a pint of beer in her hand, blinking against what was presumably a flurry of camera flashes. She was wearing a black dress that stopped at her knee (Harry could not recall ever having seen her in a dress before) and a pair of boots. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck, and as he watched, photo-Rane raised a fist at whoever was doing the picture-taking and gave them the finger, her dark brows knit, looking thoroughly annoyed.

 _She_ is _pretty_ , he had thought, and wondered whether Hermione was as mad as Ron thought she was, after all.

Harry pondered this conversation now, as he stood in Grimmauld Place’s dour basement kitchen, for the first time in months, asking himself how he could have been so stupid. He’d seen the way they’d acted, after all . . .

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, Sirius,” Molly was saying as she came back into the kitchen, setting the flagon of Butterbeer down, pink-faced. “Of all the mad things those two say, that . . . What on earth . . . !”

“It’s quite alright, Molly,” Sirius replied, a little red around the collar himself. “Don’t worry about the porridge, Kreacher will get it . . .”

“Sirius,” said Harry, unable to stand it any longer, “can I have a quick word? Er - now?”

He walked into the dark pantry and Sirius followed. Without preamble Harry told his godfather every detail of the vision he had had, including the fact that he himself had been the snake who had attacked Mr. Weasley.

When he paused for breath, Sirius said, “Did you tell Dumbledore this?”

“Yes,” said Harry impatiently, “but he didn’t tell me what it meant. Well, he doesn’t tell me anything anymore. . . .”

“I’m sure he would have told you if it was anything to worry about,” said Sirius steadily.

“But that’s not all,” said Harry in a voice only a little above a whisper. “Sirius, I . . . I think I’m going mad. . . . Back in Dumbledore’s office, just before we took the Portkey . . . for a couple of seconds there I thought I was a snake, I felt like one — my scar really hurt when I was looking at Dumbledore — Sirius, I wanted to attack him —”

He could only see a sliver of Sirius’s face; the rest was in darkness.

“It must have been the aftermath of the vision, that’s all,” said Sirius.

“You were still thinking of the dream or whatever it was and —”

“It wasn’t that,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It was like something rose up inside me, like there’s a snake inside me —”

“You need to sleep,” said Sirius firmly. “You’re going to have breakfast and then go upstairs to bed, and then you can go and see Arthur after lunch with the others. You’re in shock, Harry; you’re blaming yourself for something you only witnessed, and it’s lucky you did witness it or Arthur might have died. Just stop worrying. . . .”

He made as if to leave, and Harry mustered his courage hastily.

“Sirius, wait, there’s . . . there’s something else I wanted to . . .”

Sirius paused, turning back to Harry, and now Harry could see enough of his face in the dim light to recognize the expression there for what it was: guilt.

“Look, about Rane -” Harry began.

“Harry, I should have told you about her,” Sirius said, cutting him off quickly. “You must understand though, even I didn’t really understand what was happening, and it’s been . . . Well, it’s been confusing, I’m not good at this, it’s been so long, and she was worried at first that Mad-Eye or someone would find out and she’d lose her job -”

“Look, it’s okay, really,” Harry said quickly, “I’m not upset or anything, I just wanted to tell you . . . I dunno, I like her. She’s cool.”

“Yeah?” Sirius said, sounding almost childishly encouraged. “You think so?”

“’Course,” Harry said. “Definitely. I’m really happy for you.”

Sirius abandoned all pretense and pulled Harry into a hug so abrupt that Harry’s glasses were knocked askew. 

“I was worried,” he said, pulling back, his hands on Harry’s shoulders. “I’ll admit it, I was really worried you wouldn’t -”

“’Course I do,” Harry repeated.

Sirius stood looking at him for a moment. The sound of Molly humming and setting the table were audible within the gloom of the pantry.

“Well, I reckon we’d better -”

“Right, right,” Sirius said, and they jostled their way out of the pantry together.


	7. Adventures in the Pantry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a boisterous breakfast with the Weasleys and Harry, Rane and Sirius discuss some important matters.

  
Breakfast was a raucous event at Grimmauld Place that morning, despite its patrons’ obvious exhaustion. Molly and Sirius had outdone themselves and created a massive repast of toast, bacon, eggs and tea, and above this spread their spirited conversations flew back and forth with joviality. It seemed that for the Weasleys in particular, the departure of their immediate fears for Arthur had sent them into an absolute buoyancy.

“Mad-Eye and Tonks will be coming by this afternoon after we’ve all had a nap,” Molly was telling them, spreading jam on her toast. She looked more exhausted than any one of them by far; there were dark circles beneath her eyes and her red hair seemed to be trying to fly off in every direction at once, but she was smiling. “St. Mungo’s has Arthur in a lovely room on the first floor, he’ll be delighted to see us once he’s woken up, I’m sure . . . Rane, will you be coming along, do you think?”

“Mum, she probably wants to stay here with Sirius,” Ginny told her mother, as if this should have been evident to everyone.

Rane glanced across the table, where Sirius was grinning down at his plate, a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth.

“Yeah, I think I’ll stay behind and let you guys visit him,” she agreed, keeping her face carefully neutral. “He won’t to want ten people in his room, I bet he’s worn out.”

“Oh, of course, of course, I haven’t any doubt,” Molly agreed, nodding and stifling a yawn. “And Ginny’s right, it’ll give you and Sirius a chance to -”

Fred choked on his tea and George snorted.

“-spend some time alone,” Molly finished, shooting an impatient look at them. “What are you two tittering about?”

“Nothing, mum,” said Fred, biting the insides of his mouth.

“Alone time, yeah that’s excellent, right,” George agreed.

“Oh, give it a rest,” said Ron, rolling his eyes.

“Harry, aren’t you hungry?” said Sirius, sounding concerned.

Harry was looking at his nearly untouched plate with a troubled expression, moving the yolk of his egg around. He looked up distractedly, as if disturbed from a deep reverie.

“What? Oh, um . . . I’m full,” he said quietly, pushing his plate away.

“Not gonna eat that?” Ron asked thickly, gesturing to Harry’s bacon.

“No, you go on,” Harry replied, getting up. “I’m going to bed . . .”

Sirius watched him shuffle upstairs, his brow furrowed.

“I think I’m going to go, too,” Ginny agreed, yawning hugely.

“We all ought to,” said Molly, looking around at them, notably bleary-eyed. “I’m absolutely done in after last night. Do you suppose Kreacher will tidy up, Sirius?”

“Well, it’s his job, after all,” Sirius said darkly. “I haven’t seen him since last night, but I’m sure he’ll find his way in here eventually . . .”

There was a scuffle as Fred, George, Ron, Ginny and Molly rose, stretching.

“Rane, you’ll wake me before it gets to be too on, won’t you?” Molly asked Rane, untying her apron and hanging it by the door. “I don’t want to keep Arthur all afternoon.”

“’Course I will,” said Rane with a smile.

“Oh, thank you, dear,” said Molly, patting her on the shoulder and yawning. “You’re a good girl, you know, I’m so very delighted you’re with us . . .”

Rane was absurdly touched by this, however embroidered by Molly’s overtiredness it was, and watched her toddle sleepily out of the kitchen behind her children with unfiltered affection.

“Did you hear that?” she said to Sirius musingly. “She said she’s delighted I’m here. Next time you start taking me for granted, you just keep that in mind . . .”

“Reckon she’s been drinking again,” Sirius muttered loftily.

Rane balled up a napkin and flicked it across the table at him, grinning. He was looking over at her, his chin resting on his fist, wearing an expression of almost garishly exaggerated fondness.

“Oy!” Fred shouted from upstairs.

“OY!” Rane replied loudly.

“Try to keep it down, will you, so the rest of us can sleep?” Fred called down.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, THE BOTH OF YOU, GO TO BED!” Molly’s voice shrieked scathingly from further up the stairs. Sirius had rested his knuckles lightly against his mouth to keep from laughing too loudly.

“What did you tell them, anyway?” he asked Rane, grinning.

“Nothing!” Rane replied defensively. “They just . . . Deduced. I mean, they didn’t come right out and say, ‘did you guys do it,’ but they came pretty damn close -”

“No, they were too busy asking me who I’d chatted up while I was on the run,” Sirius murmured, clasping his fists together before his mouth. “What brought that on, anyway? I thought Molly was going to have a heart attack right then and there . . .”

Rane opened her mouth to begin, then snickered, pausing.

“They were making a case for your celibacy,” she said after a moment.

“Oh, were they?” said Sirius, looking amused. “Thought I’d spent two years out of Azkaban humping stray dogs or something . . .?”

“Sirius, come on,” Rane said, rolling her eyes and fixing him with a weary smile. “I mean, you have to know . . . Well . . .”

Sirius raised his eyebrows at her.

Rane gestured vaguely at Sirius with the hand that her cheek wasn’t resting on. “You’re . . . hot!” she finished at last.

She had expected Sirius to take this accolade with an easy smile, maybe a hint of his usual pomposity, but to her surprise he flushed, looking uncharacteristically diffident.

“And the way Remus told it to me when we met, you’ve always been,” Rane went on.

“Blimey,” Sirius said, laughing in an embarrassed way. “He told you that when we met?”

Rane sipped her tea, pondering this. “Well, a bit after, but yeah,”

“And how exactly did this come up, again?”

Rane shrugged evasively, burying her face in her tea.

“Wait a second,” said Sirius, “did you . . . Were you _asking_ him about me, or-?”

There it was. Rane burst out laughing, burying her face in her arms on the table.

“You were!” he admonished, looking at her in genuine surprise.

“I was, yeah,” Rane confessed, looking up at him shamefacedly.

The sound of doors on several floors shutting came to them, followed by a ringing silence broken only by the big grandfather clock ticking loudly on the landing beneath the stairs. The sudden absence of the Weasleys’ (and to a lesser extent, Harry’s) voices struck her as somehow . . . Heady, though she couldn‘t place why.

Rane met Sirius’s eyes; he was looking at her, his fists still clenched before his lips.

“You’ve got to be tired,” she said, finding with amusement that her voice had dropped to just above a whisper of its own accord.

“I am,” he replied, his voice muffled. “Not as much as you’d think, though.”

“Should we put some of this away?”

Sirius shook his head. “Kreacher will get it.”

“I haven’t seen hide or tail of him,” Rane mused, getting up anyway and drawing the margarine and jar of preserves towards her.

She had expected Sirius to protest further, but instead he simply continued to sit there, watching her, his arms folded across his thin chest. There was something rather calculating in his gaze.

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I’ve got it, thanks for asking,” Rane said sardonically, smirking as she snatched up the loaf of bread with a spare finger as well.

Still, Sirius said nothing, nor made any move to get up and lend a hand. Rane spared a last glance over her shoulder at him, and his expression struck her as . . . Well, almost canine. His chin was lowered, his eyes staring out at her from beneath his brows, and a corner of his mouth was turned ever so slightly upwards with the merest hint of a rather predatory smile.

“You look like you’re thinking about eating me,” she said, eyeing him from over her handful of food.

Sirius’s shoulders moved up and down once, as if in a stifled laugh.

“Do I, now,” he said softly. She saw his gaze travel from her eyes to her lips and back again, quite unabashed.

Something warm bloomed deep in her belly at this sight, and she felt the long muscles in her thighs loosen a little beneath her jeans. She spared one last look at him over her shoulder, then turned and strode into the pantry.

SIRIUS had been permeated, quite suddenly, with an almost bestial desire for her as they sat at the table together. It had overcome him with shocking speed, as soon as the doors had all shut on their occupants upstairs, leaving them quite alone.

He found himself watching her face closely, at first tracing her features with a lover’s immaculate eye, taking in the miniscule details; her high cheekbones, her dark eyebrows descending upon her bright hazel eyes, staring out at him from beneath sooty lashes, her full lips, the flash of her even teeth behind them as she laughed, the strand of hair that persistently hung across her clear forehead and descended past her chin.

 _She looks like an Elf_ , he though to himself, appreciating this fully for the first time. Except for the hair, of course.  
Though he’d seen plenty of photographs in textbooks and the like, Sirius had seen only two Elves in the flesh in his lifetime. He’d spotted the first one at Slug and Jigger’s Apothecary in Knockturn Alley whilst purchasing supplies for his second year at Hogwarts, his mother ambling near at hand without much interest. The Elf had been perusing ingredients, selecting specimens with her long-fingered hands and inspecting them placidly. He had peered at her around the corner of a shelf, uncharacteristically timid, staring helplessly. There could be no question what she was; she was tall, thin, and beautiful beyond comparison, wearing a glistening green cloak and possessed of sharp cheekbones and long, straight blonde hair that flowed down her back like liquid. Even the way she had moved - with an incandescent grace that seemed catlike - was inhuman. Her icy blue eyes had met his dark ones, and she’d flashed him such a sunny smile that he had flushed crimson and fled.

The other Elf was, of course, Rane’s father, Wade Roth, who was a revered Auror and an ancient Elven warrior as well. He was a member of the Order and Sirius had known him since he had been inducted himself, before Harry was born; he’d remained, in true Elven fashion, an ageless forty-something-looking man, tall, imposing and menacingly agile. He was a gifted Auror and a gifted wizard as well (as far as Sirius knew, he was the only full-blooded Elf that practiced magic, though he suspected the lot of them might have had the capacity for it and simply didn’t bother). Even Mad-Eye maintained a stiff respect for him. He could see Wade’s chiseled features, his slinky poise, in Rane as he looked at her now, and wondered for an uneasy moment what Wade would make of all of this, or if he even -

Presently Rane stood up, allowing him a clear view of her long legs, the curve of her thighs in her jeans, the way her shirt pulled tight against the long, thin arch of her waist, the spill of her dark hair over her shoulder, gleaming benignly in the cool morning light. Sirius’s long thoughts were neatly swept away in the roiling wave of yearning that washed over him at once.

He remained where he was, perfectly still, watching her, but he could feel an erection so full that it was almost painful pressing suddenly against the fly of his jeans, and his heart was now hammering beneath his shirt so hard he could hear its fanatical motion in each shaky exhalation. She cast a look over her shoulder at him, and as if on cue he felt his heart do a peculiar back-flip in his chest. He drew in a sharp breath, and as she strode off his eyes descended powerlessly past the hem of her shirt, and that was it.

He rose, walking hastily after her.

Rane didn’t hear him right away; she was moving the ancient, dust-covered jars aside to find a place to put the jam when he opened the door to the musty pantry behind her. It was the creak of the door that alerted her in the end. As she turned her head, startled, she could see one of his hands grasping the serpent-shaped handle inside, pulling it gently shut behind him so that only a sliver of light permeated the dim.

“What are you -?” she began, but Sirius stopped her mouth with his. She stumbled backwards against the force of him, the plate of butter dropping from her loosening fingers and clattering to the floor. Sirius pressed her so hard against the back wall of the pantry that several jars rattled on their shelves alarmingly.

Rane gasped against him, overcome with the sensation of his body against hers, unable to see anything but the vague outlines of his shoulders in the gloom. His hands went to her face, pulled it to his, kissing her with such a violent need that she moaned in spite of herself, and never mind if someone heard.

“Sirius -” she gasped as he began to move down her neck, nipping her skin gently. She could feel him pressing into her jeans, pulsing and hot; one of her hands went to his belt and pulled hard. “Here?”

“Here,” Sirius growled, breathing directly into her ear, and her skin erupted in gooseflesh at once. “Right now . . .”

Then his hand was reaching down to her jeans, unsnapping the buttons there with a practiced ease, and suddenly he had lifted her up and set her roughly on the ledge behind them, scattering empty jars across the floor beneath them. He yanked her jeans down, flung them unceremoniously aside, and then he’d drawn back for a moment, breathing as hard as if he’d just run a marathon, his hands fumbling with his belt madly.

“What if . . . Kreacher . . .” Rane was panting hoarsely.

“I don’t give a damn,” Sirius whispered roughly, flinging his belt to the side and unzipping his jeans. Her hand found him, long and firm, and she squeezed him hard, drawing him closer, delighting in the smooth, carnal heat pulsing beneath her grip. The moan that escaped him so loud that Rane was sure that someone would hear . . .

“Come - here -”

There was none of his former gentleness this time; he moved against her forcefully, his hands squeezing the firm flesh of her spread thighs, his mouth inches from hers. In one smooth, hard motion he was inside of her, all of him, and her gasp was hoarse with the love of it. As he began to move, his breath coming in hot puffs against her forehead, she stared up into his shadowy face, seeing the barely perceptible glint of his eyes, and then he was kissing her, biting her lip, and she clutched at the wall behind her as he leaned towards her. She could feel his heart pounding desperately beneath his shirt as he began to thrust into her harder, quicker; tendrils of his hair tickled her shoulder, swaying with his motion, and the sound of the jars on the shelves around them jostling to and fro began to grow louder as their movements grew more frantic. 

Rane drew his face down to hers, her hands on his cheeks, touched his damp forehead with her own, and as she drew close, she stared into his eyes, listening to the ringing of the disturbed glassware around them, the symphony of their moans, giving into the involuntary spasms within her. She felt him slow, saw his eyes slip shut and his face slacken with bliss, just as her orgasm swept her up in its slick, overwhelming embrace, blooming like a flower. As if on cue, an empty jar crashed at last to the ground and shattered, very loud in the small pantry, punctuating their climax.

Sirius stilled, his breath trembling on his lips, his long hair falling over his face in the dark, his grip on her legs tightening, tightening . . . And then loosening at last, setting her down gently on the old wood of the ledge.

And now he stood before her, deep within her still, his hands on the ledge, bent over her, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Christ,” Rane breathed, her heart racing. “Christ . . .”

“Sorry,” Sirius gasped. He shook his head, panting. “Couldn’t . . . help it.”

As they stood together, riding high on the glistening descent of one another, catching their breath, there was a loud and unmistakable knock at the front door of Grimmauld Place.

Rane and Sirius froze, their breath halting in their throats, and looked at each other in the gloom.

“Just someone upstairs,” Sirius whispered quickly, “maybe Buckbeak -”

The knock came again, much more insistently, and they both heard a muffled, familiar voice bellowing, “ _Sirius, open up it’s bloody freezing out here_!”

“Oh fuck it’s Mad-Eye,” Rane moaned, leaping up and searching around frantically in the dark for her pants. Sirius was hopping up and down madly, pulling his own up. Rane at last located her jeans and abandoning all pretense dropped to the floor and yanked them on unceremoniously while flat on her back, arching her hips up to get them over her butt.

“I think we broke something -”

“We’ll get it later, forget it -”

“Your belt!”

Sirius looked down at his pants, which were already trying to slide off his lean hips, and sighed raucously. Another loud knock came - BAM-BAM-BAM - and Rane could see Mad-Eye perfectly in her mind, standing on the stoop in the swirling snow, rapping the door with his staff.

“Do you think he can see all the way in here?” Rane asked suddenly as Sirius looped his belt through his pants hastily, the buckle clanging. “With his crazy eye, I mean?”

“Dunno,” Sirius said worriedly, “I never thought - but we can’t -”

He took Rane by the shoulders, brushing her off. She smoothed his hair quickly, and he paused to kiss her forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, now go get the door!” Rane laughed, shoving him towards the entry to the pantry. He opened it, letting in a rush of stingingly bright light, and turned once to throw her a lopsided grin before dashing off towards the door.

Rane stared around her feet, hoping they hadn’t broken anything important. It looked to be just a musty jar that had shattered, and near the entry the plate of butter she’d carried in here still lay face-down on the ground, but beyond that it wasn’t immediately obvious that the room had just been used for decidedly unpantrylike reasons. Rane pulled her wand, waving it as she left, and the butter vanished in a whiff of bluish smoke.

“Morning Alastor,” Sirius was saying from the corridor before the door, sounding slightly out of breath. “I was just about to take a nap, I don’t think Molly expected you until later - she’s still upstairs sleeping with Harry and the rest of them . . .”

Rane arranged herself at the breakfast table quickly, pulled the nearest mug of butterbeer towards her, and after a moment’s hesitation crossed her legs.

“Thought it best to drop in a bit before Tonks,” Mad-Eye’s voice echoed gruffly in return. Rane could hear the distinct thud of his peg-leg as he made his way down the hallway. “In case we were tailed, y’know . . . Double back, return this afternoon . . .”

He strode at last into the kitchen, pulling his hood back from his grizzled head, and both his normal and his magical eye fixed at once on Rane.

“Morning Mad-Eye,” Rane said, smiling broadly.

“’Lo, Rane,” Mad-Eye said, nodding to her and leaning his staff against the wall as he removed his traveling cloak. “Hope I didn’t, er, interrupt anything . . .”

His magical blue eye rolled around to stare out of the side of his head - directly towards the pantry, Rane noted with some anxiety.

“Nothing, nothing,” Sirius said, sweeping past him and glancing at Rane over Mad-Eye’s shoulder. “Er, fancy a spot of tea? We’ve got breakfast made, it may be a bit cold -”

“Spot of tea’d be just the thing, Sirius,” Mad-Eye said, taking a seat at the table and grabbing for the plate of bacon nearest him. “Colder than a bugger outside, almost wish I could just stay indoors ‘til we call on Arthur . . . Mad what happened to him, isn’t it?”

“Mad,” Sirius agreed, putting the kettle on.

“I dunno about you, but Dumbledore didn’t tell me a single stinking thing,” Rane said.

“Dumbledore says Potter had another vision, or a dream, or whatever he’s calling them these days,” Mad-Eye said, dropping his voice a notch. “I haven’t seen Arthur just yet but Kingsley says those are fang-marks, no question about it. Venomous, too, knocked him out cold, Healers can’t stop him bleeding . . .”

“What was a snake doing in the Department of Mysteries?” Rane asked as Sirius set a cup of tea down in front of Mad-Eye and took a seat himself.

“Much obliged, Sirius . . . I’m sure I don’t know,” Mad-Eye said darkly, “but I think we all know who’s behind it.”

There was a grim pause as they all pondered this.

“A better question would be what we’re going to tell the Ministry about why Arthur was up there,” said Sirius, leaning back in his chair. He was finally beginning to fell the effects of a full night without any sleep; the circles beneath his eyes were more pronounced that ever.

“Dumbledore’ll take care of it,” Mad-Eye said confidently. “Nothing he can’t handle.”

“Well, best of luck to Fudge covering it up, then,” Rane muttered moodily, sipping her butterbeer and gazing into the distance.

“Speaking of,” Mad-Eye said, his magical eye whizzing about to stare straight up to the ceiling, “didn’t have a chance to give you my commiserations, by the time I saw the article in the _Prophet_ Dumbledore’d already sent you off someplace on Order business, wouldn’t tell any of us where you’d gone . . .”

“The Elves,” Rane replied, still low. “I’m trying to keep them on our side.”

“Well, right,” Mad-Eye nodded, “must’ve been in America, wasn’t it? The Prophet mentioned you’d been in New Y-”

“Oh, that article was _bullshit_!” Rane snapped suddenly, flaring. “Those fuckers chased me all the way across the pond, caught me in some bar the first night I got there, I mean who does that? And what do they care what I do with my time now that I’m shitcanned, anyway? Here I’d just gotten finished telling the Council how, you know, kind and forgiving the Ministry is and how they appreciate how much the Elves helped them during the First War, and suddenly here come a gaggle of jackasses taking pictures of me having a beer! I mean, is it against the goddam law to have one fucking _beer_?”

Sirius and Mad-Eye stared at her in silence for a moment, taken aback by this outburst.

“The _Prophet’_ s all a lot of claptrap these days,” Mad-Eye said after a moment, sipping his tea. “Don’t let it get to you. All about public image, that . . . You think that’s bad, you ought to see the sort of stuff they say about me . . .”

“And me,” Sirius added, grinning at her.

Rane sighed, smiling. “I know, it just . . . It really gets to me, how -” She sighed, setting her butterbeer down so hard it foamed up. “- How stupid Fudge is being about all of this.”

Sirius sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Mad-Eye, I’m asleep on my feet,” he said, yawning hugely. “Not to be a terrible host or anything . . .”

“Both of you, off to bed,” Mad-Eye said at once, waving his hand. “I won’t be here much longer. We’ll see the lot of you in a bit . . .”

THOUGH neither said it aloud, both Rane and Sirius were grateful to escape Mad-Eye. They walked upstairs together, side by side. When they reached the landing where Ginny was presumably fast asleep, Sirius paused, looking at Rane questioningly.

“Can I . . . come with you?” she asked, looking at him.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “What kind of a stupid question is that?”


	8. The Order's Initiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the early summer, Rane is accosted by Albus Dumbledore late one night and informed of the return of Voldemort and Cedric Diggory's true fate.

The morning of June the twentieth found Rane Roth working late, well into the morning of what was supposed to be her day off. It was going on two-thirty, and aside from the barmy old housekeeper who patrolled the corridors after hours, muttering to himself and following an enchanted broom through the empty hallways, the Aurors’ office was quite deserted. Not even the usual flurry of occasional late-night inter-office memos could be seen fluttering about.  
  
Rane sat Indian-style on top of her desk, a menagerie of papers and _Daily Prophet_ clippings spread before her, a thermos of now-cold coffee near at hand. She had shed her robes in favor of a pair of jean shorts and a Holyhead Harpies t-shirt, something she would never have dreamed of doing if Cornelius Fudge was still there (of course Fudge was never at the office past teatime, true to form, so she was quite safe); her boots were sitting discarded in a pile on the floor beneath her desk, and her dark hair was pulled back into an untidy knot at the nape of her neck. Every now and then, as she studied the mess of papers, her chin began to sink slowly towards her collarbone, only to snap back up a moment later as she stared around her, bleary-eyed.

Truth be told, when she’d become an Auror, she had always thought it would be a bit more . . . Well, exciting. She’d known, of course, that for someone as low-ranking and young as she was, it might be years before she was given any duties of real import, and that was par for the course, absolutely fine. And naturally, as she amounted to an intern (or a secretary, even, on some days), her jobs usually became the crap no one else wanted. It was for a good cause, of course, but it was just, all this paperwork was . . . Well, may as well say it . . .

“Boring,” Rane muttered under her breath, circling something in red ink with the quill stuck between her fingers. She blew a raspberry, her eyes narrowed. “Paperwork is so . . . Damn . . . Boring . . .”

“Boring but necessary, I am afraid,” said an amused voice from her left.

Rane jumped so violently that she tumbled off the side of her desk, yelping. A large quantity of the paperwork she had been working on went with her in a flapping sheet and her thermos flew an impressive distance, striking the side of John Dawlish’s cubicle with a loud bang and exploding in a spray all over his framed photograph of Eldritch Diggory, who darted from his portrait, squeaking in outrage.

“Oh, I _am_ sorry,” the voice went on, still vaguely amused, “I must really learn to announce myself, mustn’t I?”

Rane scrambled to her feet, her hair in disarray, nearly slipping again on the papers beneath her feet. Standing there, clad in midnight-blue robes, was Albus Dumbledore, his long white beard tied into an ornate knot halfway down his chest. He was regarding her over his half-moon spectacles, looking faintly amused.

“Albus!” Rane spluttered. “What are you - how did you get into my -?”

“Well, as it so happens, Reginald, the housekeeper, is a dear friend of mine,” Dumbledore told her, waving his wand. A large, cushy red armchair manifested itself out of thin air, and he seated himself comfortably. “He was kind enough to allow me inside, and it seems I was lucky enough to catch you in the office. I do apologize for giving you a fright, I assure you it was not my intention.”

Rane gaped at him, at a loss for words. She knew who Dumbledore was, of course - who didn’t know him, after all? - but her exchanges with him had been quite sporadic, most of them having taken place when she was assigned to Hogwarts security the prior year for the Triwizard Tournament. She had always liked him quite a lot, in spite of Fudge’s numerous tirades about him; nonetheless, she couldn’t think of a single reason why he would be calling on her, of all people, in the wee hours of the morning . . .

“Allow me to explain my unannounced visit,” Dumbledore said, as if reading her mind. “Can you step away from what I’m sure is an important bit of work for a moment?”

Rane stared at the floor, where the scattered vestiges of her night’s work was flung hither and yon beneath her.

“It’s - it’s not important, really,” she said, still quite startled, sounding to her own ears like someone almost blubbering. “Just . . . Just International Statute of Secrecy stuff, regulatory crap . . . Nothing good . . .”

She had no idea why she was explaining this to Dumbledore, who was watching her alertly as if he would like nothing more than to hear what she had to say regarding the regulatory crap she was working on. She cleared her throat.

“Er - I mean, of course, I’ve got a minute,” she said, pulling her wand and waving it distractedly towards Dawlish’s desk. The coffee vanished, for the most part, but Eldritch Diggory still had not reappeared; Rane suspected he was insulted by the impromptu shower he’d received.

“Excellent,” said Dumbledore cheerfully, “please, come have a seat.”

He waved his wand once again, and a second cushy armchair sprang into existence across from his own, this one bright yellow. She stepped over the pile of papers, feeling very cognizant of her missing shoes, and padded over to Dumbledore in her sock feet, smoothing her shirt self-consciously.

“I dunno if Fudge would be thrilled about you being here, you know,” Rane told Dumbledore, sinking down into the absurdly comfortable seat he’d conjured for her. “He’s got it out for you these days, I’m sure you know . . .”

“Oh, I am certain that he would be quite beside himself,” Dumbledore replied calmly, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers, “so I hope you won’t find it too impolite of me to ask that we keep this between ourselves.”

Rane nodded, mystified.

“I very much appreciate your discretion,” Dumbledore said politely. He gestured at the chair. “Do you like it?”

Rane made a quite involuntary guttural sound of contentment. “ _Ugh_ , it’s phenomenal. I’ve been sitting on that desk since six, you’ve got no idea . . .”

“Yes, this spell has proven most useful over the years,” Dumbledore mused, stroking the arm of his chair affectionately. “I rather enjoy a nice armchair. Egyptian cotton, you know.”

“Looks like chintz,” Rane remarked. “Well done.”

“Yes, it’s quite good, isn’t it?”

Rane sighed, crossing her legs. “So what can I do for you?”

Dumbledore regarded Rane in silence for a moment.

“You may be wondering why I chose to visit you at such a peculiar hour,” he said after a moment.

“I am indeed wondering,” Rane admitted, smiling.

“Well,” Dumbledore said, “in truth, I have come to make a proposal.”

“A proposal?”

“Indeed. A proposal that I very much hope you accept. One which stands to benefit many.”

Rane sat listening, perplexed. “Like a job?”

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. “Something like that, yes. But first,” he added, lifting one long finger, “I must share with you a few pertinent pieces of information that I postulate you have not yet been made aware of.”

Rane studied him for a moment, trying to discern what the nature of this proposal was, but Dumbledore’s face was quite unreadable and it was very late. She shrugged and nodded.

“Firstly, and most importantly,” Dumbledore said, “it is my sad duty to inform you that Lord Voldemort has returned.”

Rane sucked in an involuntary breath, almost as shocked at hearing this sudden proclamation as she had been when Dumbledore appeared in the first place. For several seconds she said nothing; this sentence, so incongruous with the orderly office they sat in, hung between them absurdly. Dumbledore returned her gaze, quite calm.

“What did you say?” she said at last.

Dumbledore did not repeat himself. Nor did he need to; Rane had heard him quite clearly.

“Voldemort’s dead,” Rane said flatly. “He died years ago. When I was a kid.”

But Dumbledore was shaking his head.

“I am afraid,” he said, “that he did not, in fact, die at all. Not entirely. His spirit endured, in a very concentrated form, taking on various manifestations in his quest for a corporeal form. This very summer, not two weeks ago, he achieved his goal at last. He now possesses a physical form, and he is gathering his faithful Death Eaters to him even as we speak.”

Rane didn’t know whether to laugh or not. Dumbledore certainly wasn’t laughing; he remained motionless, his fingers still steepled, looking at her from beneath his white brows, unsmiling.

“People don’t just - just recover from being dead, Albus,” she said.

“They most certainly and regrettably cannot,” Dumbledore agreed, inclining his head politely. “However, as I have just explained, Voldemort has not, in fact, ever died in the traditional sense. He was simply reduced to the merest form of life. He has not risen from the dead, only returned to his body.”

“How?” Rane asked him frankly. “How is that possible? How do you know this?”

“Harry Potter witnessed it in person,” Dumbledore explained, watching Rane closely. “As you know, he was chosen as a fourth Triwizard champion and therefore competed in the final task this summer. The task was botched, the Cup was made into a Portkey without my knowledge, and Harry and another student were transported to a graveyard, where Voldemort and a few of his closest supporters were waiting. There, the magic necessary to rejuvenate Voldemort was performed. Harry returned having escaped Voldemort. The second student was killed. The direct descendant, in fact, of the founder of the very office you hold.”

Rane’s eyes cut over to the portrait of Eldritch Diggory, who still had not returned to his portrait.

“I was under the impression,” she said slowly, “that Cedric Diggory died in an accident during the Tournament -”

But Dumbledore was shaking his head.

“Cedric Diggory was murdered,” he said quietly.

Rane scoffed. “Albus, the official report states -”

“I have no doubt that the official tale and that which we witnessed differ greatly,” Dumbledore said, still quite calm. He leaned forward slightly, placing his hands between his knees and locking eyes with her. “I am asking you to _listen_ to what I am _saying_ , Rane.”

Rane leaned back, crossing her legs in the opposite direction, staring at him and feeling oddly puerile.

“The official report,” she went on, “was that Cedric Diggory was hit by an errant spell. Probably from another competitor.”

“What sort?” Dumbledore asked her. “Forgive me my curiosity.”

Rane hesitated, feeling inept. “What sort of what?”

“Spell.”

Rane looked at him a moment in silence, still, before answering. “ _Petrificus totalis_.”

“Hmm. Non-lethal, or so I understood.”

Rane snorted in spite of herself. _Dumbledore,_ asking _her_ if a spell was non-lethal . . . That was a laugh.

“That's also my understanding,” she said. “Officially he drowned.”

“Drowned?” Dumbledore’s eyebrows went high. “How in the world did he manage that whilst petrified?”

Rane shook her head. She felt foolish recounting the report, which had sounded ridiculous to her own ears when she’d heard it the first time. “He . . . Well, he fell into a puddle,” she said, low. “Drowned. Just an accident. That’s what they say.”

A moment of silence passed between them.

“And is that what you believe, Rane?” Dumbledore asked her quietly.

"That's the position of my office, yes."

"Does the autopsy corroborate such a thing? Drowning?"

Rane sat very still, regarding him. She could recall with clarity the briefing on Diggory’s demise, of course . . . It had been no more than a five minute huddle, nothing like the usual days-long procedures that followed an investigative death. Diggory had been involved in a spat with an unnamed fellow competitor (no names, but Harry had been heavily implicated), had been hit with a wayward hex, had fallen face-first into shallow water and there he had died a stupid death, such a tragedy, unavoidable. Except Rane, who had surveyed the maze of the Triwizard Tournament’s third challenge herself along with ten of her fellow Aurors from stem to stern, had seen not a single drop of water. And there had been no rain. And because this wasn’t Philadelphia, there had been no water mains to break, either. So where did this puddle of water come from, anyway? And for that matter, what had Harry been doing Hexing him? She _knew_ Harry, after all, and he wouldn’t have done something so unprecedented, so stupid . . . But she’d swallowed it, hadn’t she? She’d swallowed the hook, the line and the sinker, because she loved her job. But yet . . .

Rane sat in silence again, looking at Dumbledore, who continued to survey her over his half-moon specs, looking quite cool. Rane felt less relaxed; indeed, though there was of course no way that this story about Voldemort could possibly be true, she could feel her heart beating hummingbird-quick in her chest. She remembered the early days, though she’d been very young; her father had been relentlessly pursued by Death Eaters, and they had spent much of the ensuing, chaotic years before Voldemort had been bested in hiding. She remembered the fear very well, all these years later; the foreboding thrill of terror with every knock at the door, the escape plan her father had crafted ( _Through the crawlspace, into the basement, stay there until the Prewetts come for you_ , he’d drilled into her head, but of course then the Prewetts had been murdered, hadn’t they?), even the Daily Prophet headlines, lying at the breakfast table each morning, announcing a new family slaughtered, a new disaster. Her father had been gone so often and so long many times that she had become sure in her heart that he’d been killed, and so had taken his sword, which he hung by the back door, and unsheathing it had stood before the front door, holding its heavy blade aloft, her small arms trembling, wishing with all her heart to be the one to run Voldemort through if he found out where she was. It had never been Voldemort to come through that door, of course, but she understood in her simple child way that the risks she perceived were all very real.

“You don’t think that was how he died,” Rane said at length.

“I _know_ that isn’t how he died.”

“How?”

Albus examined his fingers. “Well, regrettably, I have seen his body, Rane.”

Rane exhaled roughly. “You have?”

“Yes. Have you?”

Rane shook her head slowly. “No. They wouldn’t let me see him.”

“Why not, do you suppose?”

Rane scoffed again, rubbing her forehead. “Albus . . . “

“I am aware that this may come as a bit of a shock to you,” Dumbledore said gently.

“A shock?” Rane said in a low voice. She shook her head. “Your cat getting run over by a car, _that’s_ a shock. Losing your wedding ring down the kitchen drain is a shock. _This_ . . .” She uttered a humorless laugh. “This is absurd.”

“I wish it were,” Dumbledore replied wistfully.

They sat in silence for another few moments. Dumbledore continued to watch her patiently; it seemed that he was allowing Rane free reign to arrive at her own conclusions, and in her own time. Rane sat sideways in the armchair, her fists clasped before her mouth, her eyebrows drawn down, thinking.

“There’s no magic that would reinstate someone to a body,” she said abruptly.

“There is an ancient spell,” said Dumbledore. “It requires several components which are, er . . . Difficult to obtain. One of which was Harry Potter’s blood, which would explain his involvement.”

“The Ministry would know,” Rane said firmly, “Fudge would know, he would tell the rest of us, the Aurors, so that we could -”

“Cornelius is aware,” said Dumbledore.

Rane blinked. “He’s aware?”

Dumbledore was nodding. “He refuses to believe it,” he said. “I believe that the idea of it frightens him; it means trouble for the Ministry such as it has not had to face for nearly fifteen years. It is also my belief that he fears that such an announcement would cost him the office he holds.”

“And you know most of this,” said Rane quietly, “because Harry Potter told you.”

“I am prepared to take Harry’s word,” Dumbledore replied evenly. “I believe that the death of Cedric Diggory is proof enough.”

“How do you know _Harry_ didn’t kill him?” Rane asked.

Dumbledore merely looked at her, and she sensed the merest touch of chill in his voice when he spoke at last.

“I do not believe that Harry would lie about this,” he said. “Nor do I believe he is capable of killing a fellow student.”

“No,” Rane said. “You think Voldemort killed Diggory.”

“I do.”

“You think he tried to kill Harry, too.”

“Yes.”

“And he’s back after all this time.”

Dumbledore nodded, his glasses flashing.

Rane sat silently, pondering this. She didn’t want to think that this was possible; Dumbledore was right, Voldemort’s return would mean hell for the Ministry. For the world.  
In the end, it wasn’t Dumbledore that convinced her that it might indeed be true; it was a conversation she had had with her father, shortly before she had turned sixteen. He had taken her to an Elven council to be confirmed into their ranks, and as they had ridden to the Elvish city through the snowy, silent forest on horseback, she had asked him about Voldemort for the first time in perhaps six years.

 _Some of the kids at school think he’s not really dead_ , she had said, hoping her voice sounded casual.

She had expected her father to admonish her for saying such a thing, or to reassure her that Voldemort was long gone and to quit worrying so much, but his answer had shaken her badly.

 _He’s not_ , Wade had said quietly.

Rane had turned her head to look at him in astonishment. _What? Dad, he’s been dead for years, he can’t still be alive_ -

 _He is_ , Wade had replied, still soft. He’d turned his light blue eyes towards his daughter, his expression gentle, as if breaking a difficult truth. _He’s alive, Rane. I wish I was wrong._

 _What makes you say that?_ Rane had asked him fearfully.

Wade had craned his neck to peer up at the sky, where snow was gently falling on them from fluffy gray clouds. The tops of the pine trees all around them were white with it already. As he’d looked, a murder of crows, inky-black against the pale sky, had flown noisily overhead, cawing raucously.

 _You’ll learn, one day, that if you learn to listen to the earth, it has things to say_ , Wade had told her. _Warnings, mayhap._

 _So the earth told you that You-Know-Who is still alive_? Rane had asked skeptically.

 _I can hear him out there still_ , Wade had replied, his breath puffing out before his face in a white cloud. _Waiting for the right moment, I suppose._

Now, as Rane sat before Albus Dumbledore, twenty-four and far removed from that young girl she’d been, she felt the same deep, cold fear threading through her. Because Wade had been right; she _had_ begun to learn to listen. And she knew just what he had meant that afternoon. Though they hadn’t spoken of Voldemort again after that, she knew in her heart that he had been telling her the truth. Perhaps he’d known since the beginning, and he’d wished to spare her; whatever the case, she had put it out of her mind, and now, as she sat recalling that day, it seemed so near and vital to her that she could almost feel the snowflakes on her cheeks.

“Albus,” she said softly. “I don’t want to believe it.”

“Nor do I,” Dumbledore replied. “But we must, nevertheless.”

There was a pause as Rane sat, studying Dumbledore’s face.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

Dumbledore bowed his head to her graciously, offering her a brilliant smile.

“And now,” he said, with an air of getting past a piece of rather unpleasant business, “at last, we have come to my proposal.”

“You mean there’s more?” Rane said, appalled.

“Ah, but we’ve only just begun!” Dumbledore replied merrily. “Now, if we are to continue, I fear I must insist upon a more exclusive location, as lovely as your office is.”

“Like where?” Rane asked, mystified.

“I have just the place,” Dumbledore had replied, his eyes twinkling. “But I daresay you may want to bring your boots along . . .”

Rane peered down at her socks, and getting up strode over to where her boots were piled beneath her desk. She pulled them on awkwardly, stumbling, and glancing down at the mess of paperwork beneath her desk very briefly considered gathering it up into some semblance of a stack and leaving it on her desk, then decided to forget about it. Dumbledore, meanwhile, was waving his wand opulently, and both of the armchairs he had conjured vanished with a soft whoosh.

“Where are we going?” Rane asked, pulling on a woolen jacket. “Hopefully someplace indoors, I didn’t bring pants . . .”

“Take my arm when you’re ready,” Dumbledore said, holding out his forearm.

“You _do_ know you can’t Disapparate inside the Ministry after midnight,” Rane reminded him, her eyebrows raised.

“There are many things I cannot do,” Dumbledore said mysteriously. “Disapparating within the Ministry after midnight is not one of them, however.”

He held his arm out to her, his eyes twinkling. Rane grasped his wrist, and with a loud pop, both of them vanished in midair.

On John Dawlish’s desk, within his slightly discolored frame, Eldritch Diggory finally peered around the edge of his photograph, staring around warily for the silly girl that had spilled coffee all over him and finding with some surprise that she was nowhere to be seen.

THEY reappeared, for what would be the first of many times for Rane, in the front corridor of Grimmauld Place.

Rane doubled over at once, overcome with nausea.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” she moaned thickly, holding the back of her hand over her mouth and staring up at Dumbledore. “What the hell was that?”

“I do apologize,” Dumbledore said, patting her gingerly on the back and looking around brightly. “We pass through a magical protective barrier when we Apparate within Headquarters, you see . . . I am an old man, Rane, I do sometimes forget . . . But don’t fret, it passes quickly.”

Rane made a guttural urking noise. With some difficulty she straightened, looking around her for the first time. They appeared to be in a very gloomy, very old, and very unlived-in house. Many of the paintings were covered with filthy white sheets, and cobwebs hung from the ornate chandeliers overhead. The walls were equipped with old-fashioned gas lamps which cast an eerie orange light across the room, and the wallpaper was peeling and ancient.

“Welcome,” Dumbledore said, “to the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.”

“The Order of the what?” Rane said cautiously. Whatever else this place was, she felt certain that it was clearly home to very dark wizards. Dark or crazy, anyway.

“The Order of the Phoenix,” Dumbledore repeated, taking Rane by the elbow and gently leading her further inside. “Come into the kitchen, a spot of tea will help with the nausea . . .”

Rane followed Dumbledore into the kitchen, where the light was, if possible, even worse. Several candles were alight on the table, most of them burned down to the wick, spreading thick white wax around themselves in pools. A plate with several gnawed-on chicken bones was sitting there, along with a half-finished goblet of wine.

“Please,” Dumbledore said, sweeping a hand at the table. Rane sat carefully down, trying not to jostle her insides too much for fear of spewing her lunch all over the place. Dumbledore was right, though; the nausea was beginning to slowly lessen.

“Sirius!” Dumbledore called, striding into the kitchen. “Might I borrow the use of your kettle for our guest?”

There came the gentle sound of claws rapping against the hardwood floor, and a moment later a large, shaggy black dog trotted into the room. Rane looked at it with some surprise, then extended the hand that wasn’t pressed against her mouth towards it. The dog sniffed it gingerly, waved its tail idly a few times, then trotted past her with evident disinterest towards the kitchen.

“Friend of yours?” Rane asked, watching the dog’s shaggy hindquarters vanish into the kitchen.

“I am pleased to think so,” Dumbledore replied. “An excellent fellow indeed.”

Presently he reappeared, steaming kettle and three cups levitating before him. Dumbledore took a seat across from Rane, waving his hand idly at the kettle, which at once began to pour tea into each cup.

“Think you brought a spare,” Rane said, nodding to the third cup as she took her gratefully.

“Before any further introductions,” Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers and looking across at her smartly, “I must make it clear why I have brought you here.”

“You want me to join this Order of the Phoenix thing,” Rane said, raising her eyebrows. “And possibly also make me puke. Right?”

“More so the former than the latter, but yes,” Dumbledore said, nodding to her.

“Is the Order of the Phoenix a resistance against Voldemort?” Rane asked, sipping her tea.

“It is, indeed.”

“And my dad’s in it.”

Dumbledore looked, for the first time since he’d arrived that night, quite surprised at hearing this.

“Yes,” he said, “he is.”

Rane had known for some time that her father had been involved in some kind of a secret society, though she could never weasel out of him what it was; however, when Dumbledore had told her about Voldemort’s return, it had all begun to fall into place. The long absences from work; his elusive answers to her idle questions about what he’d been up to; even his ever-increasing dealings with the Elves, something he had kept at a minimum for years to spare Cornelius Fudge any undue anxiety, had clued her in.

“I knew he was up to something,” Rane murmured. “He’s been acting really weird lately. I dunno why he wouldn’t tell me . . .”

“As he explains it, he merely wished to keep you out of harm’s way as often as possible,” said Dumbledore. “As any father would, no doubt. However . . .” Dumbledore sighed. “I fear caution is a luxury we simply cannot afford any longer.”

“So this Order . . . Fudge doesn’t know about it, obviously . . .”

“No,” said Dumbledore. “And it would be most unwise to alert him, until such a time that he is prepared to accept the truth of the situation. At that time, and only then, will we once again be on the same side.”

“Who else is in this thing?” Rane asked. “And where exactly are we, anyway? Does this place belong to someone in the Order?”

“Well,” said Dumbledore, leaning back, “that brings us to the third and hopefully final shock for the evening.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are, no doubt, familiar with the name Sirius Black,” said Dumbledore.

Rane nodded, suddenly suspicious. “Only one I know of is a pretty crazy son of a bitch who blew up a mess of Muggles. That one?”

“The very same,” Dumbledore agreed. “Though as it happens, the allegations against him are quite false.”

“What is this, The _Quibbler_?” Rane said, her eyebrows high, the beginning of a bemused smile on her face. “There were witnesses who saw the whole thing, he blew the damn street apart. I should know, I sat for the inquisition after he got out of Azkaban, as a matter of fact . . . ”

Dumbledore seemed about to say something, then he appeared to reconsider. He clasped his hands on the table, looking at Rane carefully.

“I feel quite certain,” Dumbledore said slowly, “that given the fullness of time, you will learn the exhaustive details of what transpired the night Sirius was accused of the crimes which sent him to prison for thirteen years. What you will be learning tonight is very much abridged, and your first instinct, I am certain, will be to doubt what I tell you. I realize it will be difficult for you, but I must ask you to suspend disbelief for a few brief moments while I explain myself, and restrain yourself from acting rashly.”

“What are you talking about?” Rane said, the smile fading from her face. “Why are you bringing this up?”

Dumbledore remained where he was, quite calm, saying nothing. It appeared almost as if he were waiting for her to draw her own conclusions.

Rane wasn’t stupid; it took her the space of a few seconds to arrive there on her own. She suddenly made a sharp motion, as if to get to her feet.

“Albus, are you trying to tell me you know where Sirius Black _is?”_ said Rane. “That he’s, what, a part of this Order thing?”

“Please consider what I just said to you,” said Dumbledore, still quite cool. “I will explain everything -”

“No, first of all, you need to explain to me what you’re doing harboring a fugitive,” said Rane, looking at him in complete bafflement. She hadn’t expected any of what had happened tonight, but _this_ . . . This was a whole new level of crazy. “Albus, do you know how _illegal_ this is? Do you realize that my job is to _arrest_ you right now?”

“I am perfectly aware,” said Dumbledore. “I only ask that you hear me out, Rane. After you have heard what I have to say, if you still feel you must take me away, I will not resist.”

Rane looked across the table at him, her hand stuffed into her pocket, gripping her wand hard.

“Okay,” she said, nodding at him. “Okay, fine. Just... keep your hands where I can see them.”

"I wouldn't dream of anything less in polite company." Dumbledore turned his head towards the kitchen. “Sirius, would you please come here?”

“Does she have a wand on her?” said a gruff voice from the kitchen.

“Of course she does,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “I daresay you have as well, if it comes to defending yourself, haven’t you?”

Rane had gotten to her feet in an instant, her wand now held aloft before her, pointing toward the kitchen doorway. Dumbledore made no move to perturb her, only remained where he was, watching her over his steepled fingers.

“He’s here,” she said brusquely. “Right now.”

“This house belongs to Sirius,” said Dumbledore. “I daresay he has more right than most to be here.

Rane’s mind was racing. All the training, all the preparation she had been given at work to deal with any encounters with Sirius Black were zipping through her mind lightning-quick; he was a skilled wizard, one of the best the Ministry had ever seen, he was taller than she was by four or five inches, he had an affinity for physical combat. She felt confident in her ability, but this guy had killed people, _innocent_ people -

Whoever it was in the kitchen gave an annoyed sigh. “Right, then, here we go.”

The man that appeared in the doorway was tall and very thin in a pair of tattered robes, with bright eyes staring out of his gaunt face and long, matted black hair. Rane knew him at once; she had seen photos of him plastered all over the Ministry for almost two years now. What was worse, he held a wand at his side as he looked at her warily.

“Rane, this is Sirius Black,” Dumbledore said. “Sirius, this is Rane Roth, our newest recruit.”

“I know who he is,” Rane said, her voice low. Her wand remained pointed directly at Sirius, unwavering. He took a step back, eyeing her wand guardedly.

“Pleasure,” said Sirius, eyeing her wand guardedly. “Mind pointing that thing someplace else?”

“Lose the wand, man,” said Rane. “Right the fuck now.”

“Bit of a mouth on her, this one?” said Sirius wryly to Dumbledore, though he kept his eyes on Rane’s wand.

“This isn’t a joke, brother, I’ll send your ass through that wall if I have to.” Rane gestured with her wand again, sending a few purple sparks out of the end of it. Her heart was pounding.

“Look, I’m not going to curse you or anything, alright?” Sirius told her. His voice was gruff, as if from disuse. “I’m keeping it out, though, in case I need to Protego something, because you’re looking a bit mad at the moment -”

“Lose it,” Rane said loudly.

“Rane -”

“Last chance,” Rane said.

“Rane, please -”

“Drop that FUCKING wand, bro!” Rane shouted, her wand spraying purple sparks once again in her agitation. Sirius had made no move at all; he was looking at her with a combination of unease and exasperation.

“Get a hold of yourself, mate,” he said, stuffing his wand into his pocket. “Better? Blimey, don’t blow the place up . . .”

Rane’s mouth dropped open at this bald-faced wisecrack. “Get a _hold_ of myself? _This_ motherfucker - !”

“Rane,” said Dumbledore.

Rane looked at Dumbledore over her shoulder. “ _What_?”

“Sirius is on our side,” said Dumbledore. “As I explained a moment ago, he is quite innocent and in truth a rather lovely man. I implore you to lower your wand and show him some courtesy.”

Rane gaped at Dumbledore, then turned her eyes on Sirius again.

“How about all those Muggles you obliterated?” she shot at him.

“Wasn’t me,” said Sirius simply.

“Who was it, then? Santa Claus?”

“Peter Pettigrew,” said Dumbledore.

“Oh, you mean that other guy you offed!” said Rane loudly. “How convenient! Blame the dead guy who can’t defend himself, right?”

“He’s not dead,” said Sirius. He spoke with the dry tones of a man who has explained this ad infinitum. “He’s alive and well and working alongside Voldemort as we speak. He blew up that street, chopped off his finger and made off like the slimy little coward he is.”

At this last bit, Sirius’s voice betrayed an unmistakable and contemptuous revulsion. The emotion twisted his face, making him suddenly frightening. Rane’s first instinct upon seeing this expression was that such a wildly intense emotion couldn’t possibly be forged.

“And why, exactly, would he want to go and do something like that?” she asked him, her voice slightly lower.

“He’d just betrayed Lily and James Potter,” said Sirius. And now there was no mistaking the sheer emotion in his voice. “I caught him in the open, confronted him, and he shouted some things to make it look like I’d been the one to do them in. Made a nice little scene for the Ministry, who ate it right up, didn’t they?”

Rane looked at him, her wand still outstretched. Sirius was watching her now, his eyes bright. His face was twisted with passion as he told this story. A moment of silence passed between them.

“I believe,” said Dumbledore, “that is about the summing up of the thing. As for the details, you are welcome to divulge what you please, Sirius.”

During all of this, he had remained at the table, watching the two of them with the polite interest of a man observing a game of table tennis, rather than a potentially explosive shouting match between two armed strangers.

“I‘m happy to share,” Sirius said, though he looked a bit shaken from this recounting. “We’re all on the same side, and I can assure you I’ve never murdered so much as a flea in all my life.

Now, can I please come over there and have my tea?”

Rane stood a moment longer, her wand still pointed at Sirius, then with a terrific effort lowered it. Eyeing Sirius, she sank slowly back into her seat. Sirius stuffed his wand into his pocket, showed her the palms of his hands, then walked over to the table and took a seat, pulling the steaming cup of tea towards him.

There was an utterly absurd moment of silence between them. Rane was staring at Sirius with avid vigilance, and he was staring back at her, swirling the tea around in his cup idly and looking quite cool.

“Can we try this once again?” asked Sirius at length, outstretching his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Rane eyed it uncertainly. Then, very slowly, she reached out, took it, and pumped it up and down once before letting go quickly.

“Er - um - nice to meet you too,” she said hesitantly, before adding, “Sorry. For the, uh - the - I didn’t mean to be rude,” she finished lamely. “Just - just instinct, you know. Auror, and everything.”

Sirius smiled at her. He had a rather lovely smile. “No worries.”

“Excellent!” said Dumbledore, clapping his hands. “Now that we’re all friends, shall we get down to business?”


	9. Ylle Thalas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, Tonks, Mad-Eye and Wade Roth rush to save their kin from Death Eaters on the borderlands of an Elven city

  
Sirius jolted awake, his heart pounding, staring around him in his dark bedroom. For a moment, as he lay there, propped onto his elbows, he wasn’t sure that he’d heard anything at all. It was perfectly still in Grimmauld Place; faintly, he could hear the ticking of the clock on the landing below him.

He had fallen asleep on top of his tattered blanket, his boots still on, hands laced behind his head; glancing out the window, he could still see the dim vestiges of the late afternoon light, orange and rich, stealing through the slit between the curtains and the glass; hardly even sundown, then. He’d stretched out on his bed, with no intention to fall asleep after the meeting tonight, but apparently he had -

SLAM.

That was the front door shutting. No doubt about it. Sirius had been listening to its gruesome, metallic voice since before he knew how to shave. He got to his feet, stood there for a moment allowing the blood to reach his brain, and strode yawning towards the staircase.

“Sirius!” a voice was calling from downstairs. “Where are you?”

Sirius leaned over the railing, his long hair swinging, peering down into the darkness beneath him. Far below, the glow of a wand bobbed along in the gloom; the tattered robes and pale visage of Remus Lupin, his harried expression perceptible even from two floors up, was visible in its pale glow.

“Mind not slamming that door, Moony?” Sirius called down wryly. “I’d rather not wake up mum if I can help it . . .”

Remus’s head craned towards Sirius‘s voice; he pointed his wand upwards, casting the high, cobwebbed ceiling and peeling wallpaper of Grimmauld Place into sharp resolution.

“Sirius,” said Remus, his eyes glittering hollows in his face. “Come down. At once.”

“I’m working on it,” Sirius replied as he descended the staircase, trailing one hand along the dusty railing idly. “Hold your horses, you caught me having a lie-down . . .”

Remus said nothing, only turned and strode toward the living room, extinguishing his wand and waving his other hand towards the sconces on the wall in one smooth motion. The gas lamps popped alight obediently. Sirius arrived at the landing at last, rolling the sleeves of his robes up, smiling wanly at Remus. Remus stood at the opposite end of the livingroom, watching Sirius carefully.

“Alright, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Remus still had not spoken. He was standing motionless at the other end of the livingroom, still watching Sirius, slightly out of breath. Sirius paused rolling up his sleeves, his brow

slightly furrowed. Something about Remus’s body language seemed almost guarded. He was watching Sirius from beneath his brows, quite unsmiling; his wand was still held loosely in his other hand, pointed at the floor. Sirius was reminded suddenly and forcibly of what Sirius and James had always affectionately called Remus’s “furry little problem” back at Hogwarts. Sirius could remember seeing Remus staring around himself with an expression just like this as a werewolf, cautious and wary, like a fox scenting the air.

“Moony, what is it?” Sirius said, feeling a touch of concern.

“Dumbledore should be here shortly,” said Remus quietly.

“Remus,” said Sirius firmly. “What in bloody hell is the matter with you? You’re acting like a -”

“There’s been an attack,” said Remus.

“An attack?” said Sirius sharply. “Where? What’s happened?”

Remus shook his head. “I’m not sure yet, I’ve only just learned about it. Dumbledore asked me to meet him here. Mad-Eye should be arriving as well.”

Sirius felt a spark of impatience. He lifted his hands, shrugging in a gesture of frustrated bewilderment. “Well, what do you know? Surely Dumbledore told you something before he sent you -”

Before Sirius could finish, there was a loud knock at the front door. Remus swept past Sirius wordlessly. A moment later, Mad-Eye’s clunking gait could be heard hurrying down the corridor.

“Got here as fast as I could,” he was saying gruffly as he came into the livingroom, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye twitching around to settle on Sirius. “Dumbledore here yet?”

“No, no, not yet,” Remus said, shaking his head and peering out the window at the London streets below. “I’ve only just gotten here myself, but I’m certain he’ll be along.”

“Sirius know?” Mad-Eye asked, inclining his head at Sirius.

“Do I know what?” asked Sirius.

“That’ll be a no, then,” said Mad-Eye as if Sirius hadn’t spoken.

“What - I - don’t - what is all this rubbish?” Sirius said, flustered. “I’ve only just woken up, you’ll forgive me for not playing twenty questions just yet, sorry -!”

“Dumbledore will explain everything,” said Remus. “Just take it easy, Sirius.”

“Take it easy, take what easy?” Sirius burst out, his temper flaring.

But before Remus could answer, there was a loud POP and Dumbledore suddenly manifested in the musty livingroom, lifting an eddy of dust around him.

“Good evening, Alastor, Sirius,” he said at once, bowing to the three of them. “Remus, thank you for your haste.”

Remus nodded to him wordlessly, still watching Sirius.

“Albus, what’s happened?” Sirius asked Dumbledore. “These two won’t tell me a bloody thing except that there’s been an attack -”

“There has indeed been an attack,” said Dumbledore. “No one from the Order has been injured yet, as far as I am aware -”

“Yet?” Sirius stared around him incredulously, feeling the beginnings of real anger rising within him. Remus and Mad-Eye had shown up to headquarters while this confrontation was still happening?

“Yet,” Dumbledore agreed, bowing his head slightly.

“Well, what are we standing around for?” Sirius said impatiently. “Do they need help?”

“I have no doubt that they do,” said Dumbledore, a statement which provided exactly zero applicable information.

“Dammit, what the bloody HELL is going on?!” Sirius nearly shouted.

“An assembly of Death Eaters has attacked two Order members,” said Dumbledore, speaking over Sirius. “We shall know more very shortly.”

Sirius’s mouth opened to protest this enigmatic reply, but he was interrupted by a third loud knock at the door. Remus made as if to go to the corridor to answer it, but Dumbledore had already vanished from the living room in a swirl of deep purple robes. A moment later, he reentered, followed now by a tall, imposing man that Sirius recognized immediately as Wade Roth, Rane’s father and a renowned Elven warrior as well as an Auror alongside Mad-Eye at the Ministry of Magic. He was a tall, well-built man, possessed of long, dark blonde hair and pale blue eyes. He swept back the hood of his dark green cloak as he strode into the livingroom, giving them all a cursory glance. He looked more harried than Sirius could remember ever seeing him. His mouth was drawn down into a frown, turning his pale face into a roué of dismay.

“Ylle Thalas,” said Wade at once without greeting them, his faint American accent sounding oddly out of place. “That’s where they’re at. Ylle Thalas.”

“You’re sure?” Remus said sharply.

Wade nodded. “Every sentry west of the city is on alert. I’ve ordered reinforcements, but it’ll take them a bit to get there.”

“Ylle Thalas?” said Mad-Eye. “North of London, isn’t it?”

“Northwest, yes,” said Wade, nodding at him quickly.

“Are they alright?” said Dumbledore.

Wade shook his head, his hands on his hips. “They can take care of themselves, the both of them can, but there are just too many factors. If I knew how many they were, that’d be one thing, but as it stands, I’d rather not take the chance.”

And suddenly, as Sirius stared from Wade to Dumbledore, a rush of horrible understanding fell upon him. Ylle Thalas was an Elven city, after all; what better reason for Wade Roth to show up unannounced at headquarters looking as pale as a sheet? What better reason for Remus and Mad-Eye to be standing in Sirius’s house treating him as if he were a bomb ready to go off at the slightest urging?

“Is it Rane?”

Dumbledore, Remus and Mad-Eye all turned to Sirius.

“Is she the one who’s been attacked?“ said Sirius, his voice trembling slightly. He didn’t like the way his heart had doubled its pace in the space of a few seconds, and he liked even less the cold, squeezing sensation of a fear that was almost panic in the center of his solar plexus, radiating outward like a spreading fire.

“Sirius,” said Remus in a quiet voice. “Please stay c -”

“I AM calm,” said Sirius loudly.

There was a ringing silence in the livingroom, broken only by Sirius’s ragged breathing. Dumbledore seemed on the verge of chastising Sirius for this outburst, but he appeared to dismiss this notion, perhaps realizing the extent of the other man’s alarm.

“Yeah, it was Rane, alright,” said Wade, looking at Sirius in surprise. “Take it down a notch, Sirius, we’re getting there.”

“She was stationed in north London with Tonks this evening,” said Dumbledore. “The Death Eaters in question drew Rane and Tonks away from the city itself and according to Wade, towards Ylle Thalas itself, where they will be more difficult to locate, I would presume.”

“That’s exactly what they were doing,” said Mad-Eye. “Seclusion technique, oldest trick in the book. Lots of cover, nobody around to help . . .”

“Rane knows Ylle Thalas pretty well, but it’s getting close to nightfall and the Death Eaters will know they’re on her turf,” Wade said, “so if I were them I’d -”

“Call for help,” said Mad-Eye, nodding grimly. “The more the better.”

Dumbledore was nodding too. “So time is short, then.”

He looked around at the three other men, all of them looking tensely back at him.

“Look, if you’re going to try to tell me to stay here and let you lot take care of this, I’ve got bad news for you,” said Sirius brusquely. “So if I were in your position, Albus, I’d skip that whole sermon entirely.”

“Sirius,” said Dumbledore slowly, “You do not need me to inform you how perilous your being so near to London and out in the open will be for you -”

“No, I certainly don’t!”

“- however, I chose to convene at Grimmauld Place,” Dumbledore went on without pausing, “because I did not wish for you to go plowing off after Rane without understanding the situation first if you were somehow made aware of the circumstances through another means.”

“Well, you got that bit right,” said Sirius, low.

“I realize that you care very much about Rane,” Dumbledore said. “Understand that this does not give you permission to act rashly tonight, no matter what happens to any one of us, including Rane herself. The Order itself is far more important than the sum of its constituents, as you are no doubt aware. Am I clear?”

Sirius looked at Dumbledore for a moment; Dumbledore stared back at him steadily, his blue eyes hard over his half-moon glasses, barring no argument. Sirius had no doubt that had Dumbledore wished it, he could have forced Sirius to stay behind; he was giving him the opportunity to help. So he must have grasped, at least on some level, what Rane meant to him.

“Fine,” said Sirius, nodding.

“We need to get moving,” said Wade, looking at Dumbledore anxiously. “Time’s wasting, Albus. You two ready?”

Remus and Mad-Eye both nodded.

“Sirius, you good?” Wade said, lifting his chin at Sirius.

Sirius nodded. “Excellent. Let’s go.”

“My lead, then,” said Wade, putting his forearm out. Sirius saw the flash of his sword at his waist as he moved, silvery and dully sharp in the dim light. “On three.”

“Prepare yourselves for a fight,” said Dumbledore.

“One - two -”

Sirius met Remus’s eyes across from him. Remus looked peaky and not very well; his eyes were filled with the same worry that Sirius felt, and he had a moment to wonder why he was so concerned about Rane.

“Three!”

The four of them gripped Wade’s forearm and Grimmauld Place vanished in a churning spill of melting shapes and colors.

A SPLIT second of pressure and cold darkness later, then the five of them were standing, not on the ancient stained carpet of headquarters, but on a embankment of tall, gently undulating golden grass, on the verge of a dark forest of very tall, dark-wooded trees that leered from above amidst the growing shadows. The failing evening light was purple and red now, streaming between the gnarled branches like blood. The air was chilly, and a light dusting of snow covered the earth underfoot and frosted the treetops with dim bluish-white.

“Which way, Wade?” said Dumbledore, his wand held aloft. At his side, Remus held his high as well, staring around him cagily.

Wade paused, facing the forest, and Sirius saw him lift his head slightly, exactly like a fox sampling the air. A moment passed this way, the chilly breeze lifting tendrils of Sirius’s hair and teasing them across his face as he stared at Wade’s back, feeling the triphammer of his heartbeat beneath his robes.

After what seemed like an eternity, Wade half-turned back to his four companions, the red light sending his profile into sharp, dangerous resolution.

“West,” he said simply, and turning he strode off into the forest, pulling his wand as he went. Dumbledore, Remus, Sirius and Mad-Eye followed, all of them doing the same.

They hurried silently through the forest, their feet crunching in the shallow snow beneath them. Sirius felt almost wild with impatience; he had never been this close to Ylle Thalas before, and now he knew why the woods surrounding it were so often reputed to be perilous to travel through. The trees were so tall and clearly ancient that they were pillar-like, crawling with thick vines and very queerly alive, seeming to leer.

“There,” said Mad-Eye, gesturing with one gnarled hand.

Sirius followed his finger.

“Footprints,” said Remus sharply. “Can’t be far, then . . .”

“Stay close,” said Dumbledore warningly. “We are nearly upon them, I believe -”

He had no sooner spoken than the forest around them was lit up suddenly by a blinding flash of red light. All five of them dropped, and overhead two Stunning spells cavorted with a high-pitched whistling sound; one of them flew wide entirely, but the other struck a tree trunk where Remus’s head had been not two seconds prior, leaving a long black streak on its bark.

“I SEE YOU OVER THERE!” a harried voice called from nearby. Another spell rang out, striking the snow near Mad-Eye’s staff. “COME OUT AND FIGHT, COWARDS!”

“We’re just here for our friends!” Remus shouted.

“REMUS!” Tonks’s voice suddenly rang out.

Remus made a sudden motion as if to leap to his feet, but Mad-Eye yanked him back down by the scruff of his shirt, hissing at him. The trees were suddenly alight some twenty yards out with a flurry of bright flashing light; a duel, Sirius thought.

Tonks suddenly burst into the clearing ahead of them, her pink hair absurdly brilliant against the dim forest around her. She was facing the opposite direction, her wand out, dueling furiously with two Death Eaters, their masks flashing in the glow. A third was striding out from the forest behind his mates.

Remus leapt up again, this time quite unperturbed by Mad-Eye’s fingers scrabbling at the back of his shirt; Sirius clearly heard the hem of his sweater rip. Wade was on his feet nimbly in a moment, running after Remus, and Sirius followed suit, pulling his wand out hastily.

Remus blew the third Death Eater off of his feet with a single curse, sending him flying onto his back, out cold. He joined Tonks’s side a moment later, his wand a blur. Sirius ran past them, staring around him wildly.

“Rane!” he shouted. “Rane!”

And there she was, just beyond the clearing, surrounded by Death Eaters, at least four of them, equipped not with her wand but her sword; Sirius could see its silvery flashing motion, lightning-quick, as well as the spells her attackers were aiming at her flying off her blade in wild directions. Her long hair was loose and whirling around her head as she spun back and forth; he caught a glimpse of her harried expression, her forehead shining with effort.

“Rane!” he bellowed, sprinting for her.

“Sirius!” Dumbledore’s voice came sharply from behind him, but he paid it no mind. Let Dumbledore be angry if he wanted.

Rane spun on her heel, aiming a reflected curse for one of her assailants; it struck him neatly in the chest, sending him onto his back in a dead faint. One of the others spotted Sirius, and his wand wove around to point at him at once.

“IMPEDIMENTA!”

A spell zipped past Sirius, sailing neatly over his shoulder, and struck the Death Eater, knocking him over a hillock and out of sight. Sirius glanced behind him, where Wade was standing with his wand still extended.

“Get her!” he said, nodding at Rane. “Make it fast, we need to get out of here!”

“SIRIUS, what are you DOING here!?” Rane shrieked, stuffing her sword into its sheath and pulling her wand out. She was not even able to spare him a glance; ducking the first curse that was sent her way, she began to duel with the two Death Eaters who remained.

“Daddy come to save you?” a voice sneered from beneath one of the masks.

“Looks that way,” Rane replied through gritted teeth, ducking a Cruciatus curse smoothly.

“We need to get out of here!” Sirius was saying, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had finally come to a skidding halt at her side, his wand out, already throwing curses towards the second Death Eater.

“I’m - a bit - busy - at the moment!” Rane gasped.

“CRUCIO!” one of the Death Eaters shrieked again, and Rane ducked once again.

“CRUCIO!” he screamed again, and yet another electric yellow bolt came for her. She leapt nimbly from its path, her eyes glittering.

“MISSED ME, YOU OLD FUCK!” Rane shouted, laughing madly.

“CRUCIO! CRUCIO! _CRUCIO_!”

The first two sailed over Rane’s and Sirius’s heads, striking the limbs above them with a loud crunch and a smell of ozone. The third struck Sirius squarely in the chest.

He had not been prepared for it; the sudden, paralyzing agony that lit up his body in a ricocheting network of pure anguish wiped all thought cleanly from his mind. He fell onto his side, screaming, his back arching helplessly, clutching at snow-covered sod beneath him in big, clawing chunks.

He felt Rane’s presence at his side, and from the corner of his peripheral vision he saw more spells coming from where the rest of the Order were fighting just a little ways behind them, but they wouldn’t be fast enough; he’d lost it, he’d lost this one for sure, he was finished . . .

And then, the woods around him lit up in bright, iridescent blue and white.

He craned his neck, shuddering. Rane stood next to him, surrounded in an aura of pulsing white light. Her eyes had gone from ruddy hazel to bright, icy blue, and she was staring at the Death Eaters before her with wild, unbridled focus. The one that had cursed Sirius - the left one, he thought - lifted his wand at last in his surprise, and Sirius was at once released from the hellish pain of the curse. He resisted the urge to drop onto his back in sheer relief, instead scrambling to his feet, snatching his wand up from the snow. He backed up a pace, his back touching the trunk of a tree, watching this unfold before him. Behind him, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, Remus, Tonks, and Wade stood in sudden pause, their shadows long behind them.

The Death Eaters before Rane both began to shoot spells at her wildly, taking stumbling steps backwards, their faces long with terror. The spells seemed to fizzle into nothing before reaching her at all, however. And now, the wind was picking up around her, shaking the bows above her with sudden force, picking up the dusty snow in an eddy about her body. Though the violent gusts were powerful enough to stagger Tonks and Remus where they stood, the capsule of light around Rane seemed calm and trancelike, almost fluid; her hair floated in a gentle cloud about her head, and when she lifted one of her hands, it was almost lazily. She stared at the Death Eaters from beneath her brows, her eyes glowing fiercely like headlights in the growing dark. The very air seemed to thrum with some unseen, dangerous electricity that seemed to be blooming like a flower. Sirius later thought to himself that as he watched her floating there, the vortex of snow and pine needles spinning about her lean body and surrounded in undulating white light with her eyes blazing out like beacons, he could never remember being so utterly terrified of such a lovely sight.

The light around her suddenly burst out in a blinding flash, sending even the dark trees around them into white nothingness, and Sirius could feel the power of whatever it was pulsing in his eardrums and causing the very earth beneath him to tremble. The Death Eaters before Rane were thrown backwards unceremoniously; one landed against a tree trunk hard enough to knock him stupid, and the other was flung into a clumsy heap some five feet back, his wand landing point-down nearby. Neither of them moved.

“GET HER!” Sirius could hear Wade shouting, his voice lost in the pulse of the force around them. “STUN HER, SIRIUS! STUN HER OR SOMETHING! HURRY! BEFORE IT GETS BIGGER!”

Before Sirius could do anything, the light suddenly died, and Rane, whose feet, Sirius saw in amazement, had been hanging six inches from the ground, collapsed into a motionless heap, her wand tumbling from her fingers, her dark hair spilling around her on the snow.


	10. A Trip Through the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane and Mad Eye are down for the count, and the Order has Death Eaters on all side. The only way to go is forward, towards the Elven city, whose welcome turns out to be less than gracious.

“RANE! RANE!”

Sirius’s ears were ringing. He felt shell-shocked. He remained motionless, his back against the rough bark of the tree, staring at Rane’s motionless form on the ground, blinking against the colorful afterimage of the brilliant light that had erupted from her that was suspended in his field of vision. He heard crunching footsteps, saw Wade running past him, dropping his wand and his sword into the snow as he went. Dumbledore was rushing forward too, his long white beard thrown over his shoulder, perhaps in the sudden, violent winds that had only just died away. Particles of dusty snow, displaced from the bows above them in the riotous whirlwind, were drifting downwards peacefully in silvery sheets, along with pine needles. Sirius could feel the icy cold of them as they hit his neck and forehead, melting at once.

“Sirius!”

A hand grasped Sirius’s bicep roughly, and he jumped, startled badly. Tonks stood there, a long gash across her forehead seeping blood almost as bright as her hair. A portion of her sleeve had been singed so badly that it was still smoking, leaving her forearm exposed to the chill. Remus was at her side, looking harried but uninjured.

“Are you alright?” Tonks asked him anxiously. “We saw them curse you, for a second we thought -”

“Fine,” Sirius heard himself saying, as if from far away. “I’m fine. Are you - are you both alright?”

“We’re alive, anyway,” said Remus, brushing his ruffled hair out of his eyes. “Mad-Eye’s been stunned, he’s unconscious but I think he’ll be alright . . .”

“Where’ve they gone to? The Death Eaters?”

“Disapparated,” said Dumbledore. He had come over to them; he was unharmed, but his brow was furrowed and he looked as shaken by what had just happened as Sirius felt. He was still grasping his wand, white-knuckled. “All but the two over there, of course. I surmise they shan’t pose any threat, however.”

Sirius glanced over Dumbledore’s shoulder, where he could see the two huddled forms of the Death Eaters that had been attacking Rane, motionless save for the breeze rippling the hems of their robes. The mask of the one who’d been thrown against the tree trunk had come off in the fray and lay glittering malignly in the snow at his side. Sirius couldn’t see his face well enough to be certain, but judging from the broad shoulders and dark hair strewn beneath him, he thought it might be Antonin Dolohov.

“Are any of you hurt?” Dumbledore was asking them briskly.

“No, we’re all okay,” said Tonks, “Nott got me in the face with something, it won’t stop bleeding, but we’re all alive, at least -”

“What _was_ that, Albus?” said Remus in a low voice, looking past Dumbledore’s shoulder towards where Wade was kneeling over Rane’s motionless form.

“Now is not the time,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head at once. “The Death Eaters we dispatched will be back very soon, and in greater numbers, to collect their fellows and to find us, I haven’t any doubt -”

Wade was jogging over to them. He, too, had escaped unscathed, but his long blonde hair was in disarray and as he approached them, he bent and retrieved his wand and his sword, holding one in each hand as if he expected to require their use at any second. Sirius saw with a jolt of disquiet that the shaft of his sword was stained red with someone’s blood, and wondered how the Death Eater on the receiving end of that had fared.

“You guys okay?” Wade asked them.

“Better than whoever it was met your sword,” said Tonks, following Sirius’s queasy gaze.

Wade looked down distractedly, then ran his blade through a bunch of his robes with practiced ease, as if bloodying his weapon was an everyday event. “No one else is hurt?”

“What the bloody hell did she _do_ to them?” Tonks asked him. “I’ve never seen magic like that . . .”

Wade was shaking his head. “Wasn’t magic”

“Is she alive?” asked Sirius breathlessly. For the first time, he was acknowledging the terror he felt in the center of his chest - that Rane, motionless on the snow, may very well be dead. Perhaps a spell had gotten through to her, or whatever that massive thing had been had wiped out her life force when it dissipated. He realized abruptly that this, above all - that formless, horribly massive fear - had been what had caused him to hold his ground and not go to her at once, and he hated himself briefly for it.

Wade nodded his head, slightly breathless, looking as fearful as Sirius felt. “Yeah, but barely. Listen, we have to get out of here. Now. She needs help, and moreover, six of us won’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell when they come back with more to clean up -”

“Five,” Remus corrected him grimly. “Mad-Eye’s going to be useless for hours.”

“Back to headquarters?” asked Tonks, looking at Wade.

“No,” said Wade at once. “It’s too risky, we could be followed.”

“Ylle Thalas?” said Dumbledore, looking at him questioningly. Wade nodded once without hesitation.

“Ylle Thalas,” he agreed. “Nothing for it. Until the coast is clear, anyway.”

“What should we do with them?” said Remus, jerking his head towards the two unconscious Death Eaters.

“Leave them where they are,” said Dumbledore grimly. “Their master’s displeasure will be punishment enough for their failings tonight.”

“Can we Apparate?” asked Sirius dizzily. It felt as if things were happening far too quickly.

“They won’t like, but we’ve got no choice,” said Wade, peering backwards towards the form of his lifeless daughter, who lay still, the deep red sunset’s glow setting her black robes aflame.

“It’s getting dark. You,” he said, nodding at Tonks, “might want to change that to something a bit more, uh . . . conservative.”

“Oh, honestly,” said Tonks, rolling her eyes, and screwed up her face. A second later, her pink, spiky hair had morphed into a deep red. “Better?”

“That’ll do,” said Wade absently. “Let’s get moving.”

Dumbledore turned and swept over to Rane, pointing his wand at her as he went. Her lean form rose into the air at once, raining down snow and pine needles, her head lolling bonelessly on her neck, and drifted towards them. The sheet of her dark hair rippled beneath her.  
  
“Bloody hell,” said Sirius in a low voice, staring helplessly. “Just look at her.”

“The council will help her,” said Wade, but Sirius noted with a surge of worry that he was looking at Rane with the same expression of sick disquiet. “Tonks, Remus, will one of you get Mad-Eye? He won’t thank us for leaving him here with those two assholes to freeze to death -”

“Oh damn, I almost forgot about him!” Tonks remarked, and jogged into the clearing behind them. A moment later she reappeared, holding her wand aloft in one hand and clutching Mad-Eye’s gnarled staff in the other, Mad-Eye himself floating before her as motionless as Rane.

“Grab his arm, Remus,” she said as they drew near. “I’ve got his stupid staff, he can’t bring himself to leave home without it -”

They circled around Wade, who gripped Rane’s forearm tightly. Remus had taken hold of Mad-Eye’s peg-leg with his free hand, completing their circle.

“On three,” Wade said, raising his wand. “One . . . Two . . .”

Sirius didn’t hear the final count this time; with a loud POP, the seven of them vanished. The displaced snow swirled into an undulating eddy in their wake, and as it drifted back down, covering their footprints in its light dust, the clearing once more settled into silence, broken only by the uneven breathing of the cataleptic Dolohov and Malfoy.

  
WADE had misjudged their landing somewhat in his distraction, so when they arrived at the gates of Ylle Thalas, there was a good foot between their feet and the earth. Everyone tumbled to the snowy ground in heaps except Dumbledore, who landed gracefully on the heels of his boots. Rane and Mad-Eye, the spells holding them aloft broken, both came down too and each landed with a thud. Mad-Eye’s magical eye popped out, still swiveling madly hither and yon, and rolled through the snow towards Tonks.

“Oh, _gross,”_ she yelped, eyeing the eyeball distastefully. “I dunno how to put it back in, I guess we’ll have to just carry it . . .”

Dumbledore lifted his wand, and Mad-Eye lifted lightly up once more, his magical eye now floating at his side, spinning about wildly, bits of snow still clinging to it. Tonks pointed her wand at Rane, meaning to do the same, but Sirius stopped her.

“No, no, let me,” he said in a low voice, kneeling where she’d fallen. He couldn’t stop himself from inspecting her, now that he was so near to her. She could have been sleeping; her face was perfectly relaxed and as lovely as ever, her lips slightly parted. He tenderly brushed aside the tendrils of hair, damp with melted snow, that were clinging to her cheeks, fighting the urge to bend and kiss her in spite of himself. He saw a long, angry red slash along her side for the first time, a graze so deep it had torn right through her robes, revealing her bare skin; the bleeding had slowed to a sluggish trickle, but her robes were stained and shining with it. He felt an almost overpowering surge of love for her, mingled with a deep, intense hatred for whoever had done this to her, a combination so potent he could feel the threatening sting of tears behind his eyes.

“Sirius, there’s no need -” Remus began.

“It is alright, Remus,” said Dumbledore simply.

Sirius was hardly listening to them. He scooped her up into his arms, and her head rolled limply against his chest, close to his heart. As he straightened, he was shocked at how light she felt, as if there were no substance to her at all.

“This way,” Wade said, brushing the snow off of his robes hurriedly and making for the gates.

“Hang on,” said Sirius, looking at Wade’s diminishing back, “you need to tell us what just happened, Wade. With her.”

Wade came to a slow stop and turned, casting a side eye towards Sirius.

“Sirius, this isn’t the best time.”

“I bet,” Sirius agreed.

Wade sighed. “She’s half-Elf, she’s got powers. That’s all you need to know right now.”

“Wade, I have to agree with Sirius,” Remus said quietly.

“Well, agree with him all you want, it won’t change the answer I‘m giving y‘all,” Wade replied waspishly. Sirius opened his mouth to retort, but Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head gently. Ahead of them, Wade strode on, head down.

The city of Ylle Thalas was easily the most incredible sight Sirius had ever clapped eyes on; in spite of his anxiety, he was awed by its grandeur. He had never seen an Elven city before, though his Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic lessons at Hogwarts had given him enough to piece together that they were ancient, highly wrought structures unrivaled by any wizard- or muggle-made edifices of their ilk. The silver spires were intertwined with the very trees themselves, both so tall their peaks were lost in the clouds; ornately crafted gates circled the entirety, and glimmering purple and blue lights, shining like gentle beacons, glittered in the growing night. Among the fields that surrounded the city, half-concealed by the tall, gently swaying grass, horses grazed, their silky tails flicking idly, the surreal bluish light gleaming on their shining coats.

“It’s a bit like a dream, isn’t it?” said Tonks faintly, staring upwards, her mouth open.

“Ylle Thalas is among the oldest Elven capitals that remain,” said Dumbledore as they strode along behind Wade. He glanced around at Remus, Sirius and Tonks, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. “Count yourselves among the lucky few mortals to have born witness to it.”

“Don’t get too excited just yet,” said Wade from up ahead without turning. Sirius had a rather bizarre moment in which he remembered that Wade was an Elf, and therefore blessed with vastly sharp senses; it seemed at first that he was too far away to have heard anything Dumbledore had said at all. “I don’t know how they’re going to react to a bunch of wizards showing up at their door. And Rane isn’t very popular around here either, to be honest.”

“Not popular?” said Remus, sounding surprised. “I should think she’d be quite welcome, being one of them -”

“Ah,” said Wade, glancing around at him and lifting one finger. “But you’ve just hit the nail on the head, Remus . . . She _isn’t_ one of them. She’s half one of them. And they aren’t crazy about half-breeds, any more than a lot of wizards are.”

“Well, if they don’t even like her, why in bloody hell don’t we just take her to St. Mungo’s?” asked Sirius impatiently. “If they turn her away -”

“They won’t turn her away,” said Wade, turning back towards the city. “Just - don’t expect a warm welcome.”

The stone-flagged steps leading to the innermost part of the city was guarded by two imposing sentinels, both of them wearing silver helmets that obscured their faces entirely. Each held their swords at the ready before their chests, and as Wade approached, he held a hand out to his companions behind them. They slowed, allowing him to stride forth.

He threw back his hood and spoke in a ringing voice in a lovely, rolling dialect.

“ _Im tul-with nin inafred. Ammen-mîn_.”

The sentinels exchanged a look. One of them lowered his sword.

“ _Varilterende, mîn ceri u’hen men_ ,” he replied gruffly. “ _Man are tëi_?”

“ _Te nur’oi moribund_ ,” Wade replied, his voice strong. “ _Me linne’te_.”

“ _I Aran na’u hen_ -” the other sentinel began, sounding dubious, but Wade cut him off.

“I don’t have time for this bullshit,” he said loudly, his accent growing more pronounced than ever in his frustration. “You see the state of us, don’t you? It’s twenty goddamned degrees below zero out here and we’ve had a real bitch of a night, alright? So what say we be gentlemen about this and stand down, eh? Please?”

The sentinels stood silently at this.

“Albus Dumbledore is welcome here, but who are these others?” said one at length, lifting a chin at Wade’s companions.

Sirius imagined they looked like quite a motley bunch; a werewolf and a metamorphmagus, a hollow-eyed convict wearing yesterday’s five o’clock shadow with a half-Elf in his arms who could very well be dead, and Mad-Eye, of course, with his wild hair hanging beneath his dangling head, his magical eye swiveling crazily at his side in midair. And all of them soaked with snow, filthy and bloodied, to boot.

“This is Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks,” said Wade, pointing to them each in turn. “The one floating behind them is Alastor Moody. Tonks and Moody are Aurors with the Ministry of Magic along with myself. That one there is Sirius Black, he’s a fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix, which you’ll be acquainted with.”  
Sirius nodded, feeling very cognizant of the state of his hair.

“And that unconscious girl he’s carrying,” Wade went on impatiently, “is my daughter Rane, who happens to be of Elyfalume like you and me. She’s not doing well, as you can clearly see.”

“Does she live?” asked one of the sentinels.

“For now,” said Wade. “Ask me again in about twenty minutes, I might have a different answer for you.”

Sirius felt a sharp pang of terror at these words. He shifted his weight, staring at the two Elves blockading their road. He wished badly that they would get out of the way. At his side,

Dumbledore had remained markedly and dutifully silent, his hands behind his back, inspecting the architecture with apparent fascination and allowing Wade to do all the talking.

“Why do you bring these Men to our gates?” a sentinel asked, sounding superbly disdainful. “You know the laws of our land, Varilterende.”

“We were attacked by Voldemort’s followers tonight,” Wade explained, still looking impatient. “My daughter and Tonks gave chase. We haven’t got anywhere else to go, and two of us are hurt. We came for help.”

The sentinels exchanged a glance. Then, at last, they stepped aside.

“You may pass,” said one of them. “But proceed cautiously, Varilterende.”

“Much obliged,” said Wade curtly, striding past them without a glance. Dumbledore bowed graciously to each of them in turn, a gesture they both returned. Neither of them acknowledged

Sirius, Remus, Tonks, or Mad-Eye’s floating form, however.

The city’s interior was even more gorgeous. Wade seemed to know it well; he strode directly through a tall hallway made of some smooth white stone, ascending a marble stairway. Sirius noticed Remus limping slightly as they made their way after him; it seemed he hadn’t fully escaped injury, after all.

“What did they say?” Tonks asked Wade curiously. “I’ve never heard Sindarin before, it’s quite lovely . . .”

“They wanted to know what I was doing turning up with a bunch of mortals,” said Wade. He glanced behind him, looking apologetic. “Sorry, a bunch of wizards, rather. You heard they could speak perfectly good English, they were just being rude. Bunch of bad-manners-having blowhards if you ask me,” he muttered.

Sirius had begun to feel a bit winded and he could feel his heart thumping quickly in his chest when they finally reached a large set of stone doors. Wade turned to them.

“Y’all wait outside,” he instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

He had vanished through the doors before anyone could protest, and they shut with a grinding thud behind him, leaving the six of them in the dreamlike, dimly lit bluish-white darkness.

Crickets chirruped cheerily in the forest around them, startlingly loud. Sirius could hear the faint whinnying of a horse nearby.

Dumbledore placed two long fingers against Rane’s throat, held them there a moment, and then drew back, clasping his hands in his sleeves and peering up at the double stone doors long-sufferingly. Sirius waited for him to say something.

“Well?” he said after a moment, unable to bear this silence.

“She is alive,” said Dumbledore without looking at him. Sirius could see the trancelike lights reflecting on his glasses in the dim. “She is weak, however.”

“How’s Mad-Eye?” said Tonks.

Remus inspected him briefly. “He’s fine,” he pronounced a moment later. “Just knocked out. He’ll come round.”

Wade reemerged from the doorway, now flanked by the most beautiful woman Sirius had ever seen. She was clad in a flowing white gown with long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes; on her head rested a delicate tiara that seemed to be made of interwoven green and silver. She swept past Wade gracefully, her eyes resting on the pack of bedraggled wizards before her, and bowed her head.

“Welcome to Ylle Thalas,” she said. Her voice was husky, sweet and strong.

“Iliwynn,” said Dumbledore, inclining his head at her. “Looking as lovely as ever, I see.”

“Peace you, Albus Dumbledore,” said Iliwynn, giving him a wry smile that seemed to light up the dim corridor. She turned her eyes on the rest of them; Remus and Tonks were both staring at this lovely creature with the same gape-mouthed awe that Sirius was. Only Wade and Dumbledore seemed to have their wits firmly about them.

“I am Iliwynn,” she said. “I am sovereign of this city. Varilterende tells me you were fallen upon by Death Eaters this eve, and on our very lands.”

“So we were indeed,” Dumbledore agreed. He alone seemed to have retained the ability to speak. “We made it mostly unscathed, but as you can see, two of our number need attention. I hope we haven’t been too presumptuous to seek your aid.”

“Never in life,” said Iliwynn graciously. “This is wartime, after all, and we fight for the same cause, if not for the same banner. Please.”

She gestured towards the room that she and Wade had just exited, and the group of them moved into its warmth gratefully.

AN hour later found Sirius sitting anxiously by a bed near a large window overlooking the forest below, where he could see the shining coats of the horses grazing in the fields. It had begun to snow lightly, and some of them, seemingly delighted by this meteorological development, were frolicking merrily, bucking and galloping.

Across the large room, which seemed to be something like a vast hospital ward, Mad-Eye had been given a cot, where he was currently either fast asleep or still knocked out from the Stunning Spell, Sirius wasn’t sure which. His magical eye had been deposited into a crystal goblet of water on the windowsill, where it was rotating wildly here and there as usual.  
Remus and Tonks had fallen asleep quite unabashedly wrapped around one another in another bed, forehead to forehead, the woven green Elven blanket pulled nearly to their ears regardless of the fire roaring in the corner. Remus’s obvious concern when he’d first arrived at Grimmauld Place, which Sirius had taken to be for Rane, had actually been for Tonks. He felt a bit foolish for missing it, truth be told; how long had they been this way? He didn’t know. Not long, he thought; it wasn’t like Remus to so readily accept affection like this. If history had anything to teach, Tonks had a rocky road ahead of her if she meant to pursue this. Regardless, it did his heart some good to see them that way, so obviously happy. Remus deserved it. So did Tonks, for that matter. A good pairing, he thought. A small light in the darkness that was this blossoming war.

Dumbledore and Wade had vanished with Iliwynn shortly after they’d arrived, presumably to speak alone, and Sirius couldn’t have cared less where they went or why. The only thing he cared about right now lay beneath a white sheet before him, silent and still. Sirius had taken to watching the gentle rise and fall of Rane’s chest. Occasionally he reached out and stroked her hair with infinite tenderness, so gentle it was as if he feared she would shatter. One of her limp hands was clasped in his own, his fingers woven through hers, his thumb stroking hers tenderly.

He had been this way for what must have been an hour when a voice spoke behind him, making him jump and stare around.

“You love her.”

Iliwynn stood there, her hands clasped before her, smiling down at Sirius.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Sirius said, unable to conceal his surprise.

Iliwynn smiled more brilliantly than ever, taking a seat opposite Sirius on the other side of Rane’s bed.

“I s’pose that’s just what Elves do though, right?” Sirius went on, smiling tentatively.

“Indeed,” said Iliwynn, her eyes dancing. “We can avoid being seen or heard when we wish it.”

Sirius looked down at Rane again, and sighed deeply.

“I do love her, yeah,” he said. “I dunno if her dad knows, but after tonight I reckon he’d have to be an idiot not to realize it.”

Iliwynn simply smiled at him. If anyone else had smiled at Sirius this much all at once, he’d have felt suspicious or even a little unnerved; this Elven woman, though, seemed to radiate simple goodness, and he found himself feeling quite relaxed in her presence. It was as if she gave off tranquility the way a fire gave off heat.

“I dunno what to do with her now,” Sirius said softly, not knowing quite why he was saying any of this at all. “I dunno what I saw back there. I mean, who can reconcile that?”

“You doubt yourself, Sirius Black,” said Iliwynn. “I think it unwise of you. She loves you, too.”

“How do you know that?”

Iliwynn turned her brilliant eyes down towards Rane. One of her hands rose, stroked Rane’s hair from her face gently.

“Love leaves a mark,” she said at length, her voice soft, “for those who look.”

Sirius waited for an explanation to this strange sentiment, but Iliwynn seemed to be finished.

“Something . . . Something strange happened to her tonight,” Sirius said suddenly. He wasn’t sure why he was saying this to Iliwynn, either; he had no reason to believe she would know or care what he spoke of. “There was light, and her eyes changed . . . it was like she had this power, and it just exploded out of her . . . It felt dangerous . . . ”

Iliwynn sat back in her chair, her gaze suddenly troubled. The change was dramatic; Sirius could feel the chill of her anxiety like a pall draping over him. His skin broke out in gooseflesh.

“I know what it was you and your friends saw tonight,” said Iliwynn quietly.

“I think Wade knows about it,” Sirius said haltingly. “He wanted me to Stun her.”

“He knows. And he was right to tell you such a thing.”

“So you’re saying I _should_ have Stunned her?” Sirius asked her, slightly bewildered. “What if I’d hurt her, or -?”

“You cannot hurt her,” said Iliwynn.

“Sure, I can . . . I mean, she could have hit her heard, or -”

“No.” Iliwynn was shaking her head.

“What do you mean, ‘no?’” Sirius asked her frankly.

Iliwynn was not looking at Sirius; she was looking at Rane. She remained so, silent and still, for what seemed like an eternity to Sirius. He was about to say her name when she spoke.

“No man can harm her, Sirius Black,” she said. “No man that I have met in my long years, at least. She is different than you and me.”

“Different how?”

“In many ways. Ways that perhaps you cannot know just yet.”

Sirius fell silent at this bewildering statement, staring at her, at a loss for words. She watched him for a moment in silence. She seemed to be sizing him up. The blue fairy-lights of Ylle Thalas played about her face, turning her lovely visage momentarily corpselike.

“Would you know, then, the truth of this woman?” she said at length.

Another silence fell between them. Sirius wasn’t sure what to say. The hand that clutched Rane’s tightened.

“Whatever truth there is, I‘d know it, yeah,” he said.

Iliwynn sighed, turning her eyes back to Rane once more.

“Twenty-five years ago,” she began, her voice soft and lovely, _“Varilterende_ was wed to a human woman, against the wishes of his people. He was cast away, for no Elf shall court a mortal; such is the law of our kind, and has been for aeons out of mind. He became a pariah amongst us, and remained so for many years. He was exiled. Do you understand exile, Sirius Black?”

Sirius, who knew it better than anyone, nodded.

 _“Varilterende’s_ wife was treacherous, as so many mortals are,” Iliwynn went on. “She renounced him, and he returned to Elyfalume in despair and took up his sword and served his kind as his name evokes - Varilterende, the unbreakable guardian. So he has served us, and served wizard kind, a sentry between two worlds. And it seemed that all was as it should be.”  
The fire flickered benignly in the corner. The snow fell endlessly outside.

“But it was not to be,” Iliwynn went on. “For _Varilterende’s_ wife bore a daughter. But how could such a thing be?”

She looked at Sirius frankly.

“She is the only one. The only one that ever may be.”

“You mean, a half-Elf?” asked Sirius.

“Do you call her so?” Iliwynn said, smiling wanly. “We call her _Peredhil,_ quasi-immortal; she who was not born to die.”

“She’s . . . she’s immortal?” Sirius breathed.

“There are none who know,” said Iliwynn. “Not even the wisest can tell such a thing. We only know of Peredhil that she is powerful beyond any Elf, and beyond any Man. She has the power to create, and the power to destroy. Mayhap she will destroy everything. That she could, were it her pleasure, I have no doubt, Sirius Black.”

Sirius looked down at Rane, her face placid, the gentle rise and fall of her breath regular beneath the sheet she lay under. He couldn’t see her destroying anything right now, certainly . . . She was peaceful, beautiful. He loved her, fiercely.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” said Sirius.

Iliwynn looked at him with some surprise. “Have I not?”

Sirius stared at her.

“She possesses great power,” Iliwynn said quietly, meeting his eyes steadily, “and there exists not a soul this day on our earth or beyond it that understands it. Not you, nor I, nor her.” She nodded towards Rane. “You saw that power tonight, when she saw you in danger. I believe that through learning of the breadth of her capabilities, she is discovering that she can do harm to herself as well.”

Sirius opened his mouth, feeling a rush of panic, but Iliwynn spoke over him, smiling warmly at him once again.

“Do not let yourself be troubled,” she said. “She will wake. Tonight, tomorrow - I know not. But that she will wake, I have no doubt. And her control will have grown greater for it. Though for better or for worse remains to be seen.”

The doors opened, and Dumbledore and Wade strode back in before Iliwynn could say more. She and Sirius turned to them.

“How is she?” said Wade, striding to the foot of Rane’s bed. “Anything?”

“You should rest, _Varilterende,”_ said Iliwynn. She had risen smoothly from where she had sat opposite Sirius, and now she swept a hand towards Remus and Tonks, who were still fast

asleep. “Ylle Thalas will keep you and your friends safe this night.”

Wade looked as if he were about to protest, but Dumbledore bowed graciously to Iliwynn before he could speak.

“We would appreciate nothing more than your hospitality tonight, my dear Iliwynn,” he said politely. “I do hope we are not imposing.”

“Never in life,” said Iliwynn, her eyes sparkling. “I hope you shall find our city most restful.”

She looked between Wade, Dumbledore and Sirius, and sunk into a brief bow.

“And now, friends, I must retire,” she said. “The hour grows late. Until we meet again.”

And with this, she swept from the room and out the double doors they’d entered through, closing them gently behind her.

“Lovely, isn’t she?” said Dumbledore fondly, staring after her. “I rather understand why she’s so highly regarded.”

“It was awfully nice of her to let us stay,” said Wade. He looked exhausted. “At least we can keep an eye on Rane and Mad-Eye. Looks like Remus and Tonks have made themselves right at home.”

“So they have,” said Dumbledore, looking over at them, his eyes twinkling.

“Sirius, how about a quick word before we turn in?” said Wade, looking down at Sirius.

Sirius looked up at him, then back down at Rane, reluctant to leave her.

“She’s not going to fly away,” said Wade. “I promise.”

“And if she tries to, I shall be sure to prevent it,” Dumbledore added, smiling.

Sirius hesitated only briefly before rising and following Wade out. He opened a pair of doors across the room from the stairway, leading onto a half-circle balcony that overlooked what must have been miles of woodland far below. The snow was falling now in big, fluffy sheafs, coating the world below in a growing blanket of white. Sirius listened for a moment to that peaceful silence that only accompanies a snowy evening, relishing the chilly air on his face, before turning to Wade, who was shutting the door gently behind him.

Wade stood there for a second in front of the now-closed doors, his arms folded across his chest, the breeze picking up tendrils of his long hair. Sirius was very aware of the sword, which had already tasted blood this evening, hanging at his belt. The two men regarded each other in silence.

“Sirius,” said Wade, and spread his hands. “You saw this coming. You must have.”

“Of bloody course I saw it coming,” said Sirius.

“Do I need to ask, or are you just going to tell me?”

“Tell you -?”

“Yes,” said Wade impatiently. “I’ve spent most of the evening with the two of you, and for most of that Rane wasn’t even conscious, and I can still tell something’s going on. I mean, it couldn’t be more obvious if it was written on your forehead. So, yes. I’d like to get the lowdown on this. As a father, you understand. And as an Order member.”

Sirius sighed, rubbing his unshaven face for a second with both hands.

“It’s been a few months now,” he said at last, dropping his hands to his sides.

“A few months.”

“Yes. Since the summer.”

Wade looked at Sirius for a few more moments from beneath his eyebrows.

“Are you going to run me through?” Sirius asked, smirking.

“Not yet, but don‘t get too comfortable,” said Wade pensively. He shifted his weight, pointing at Sirius with one finger. “You know, if I didn’t know you, I’d be as pissed off as housecat in a hogtie right about now.”

“Because I’m a convict,” said Sirius.

“And because Dumbledore set down some pretty hard ground rules about this sort of thing.” Wade tapped his temple grimly. “And I happen to respect the hell out of Dumbledore’s rules.”

Sirius nodded, looking at his boots.

“But I _do_ know you,” Wade went on. “And I know you’re a decent guy. Little hot-headed, little bit reckless . . . Bit of a fat head on you back when you were younger -”

“Hey, _hey_ -”

“But mostly, a decent guy. And I know you’ll treat her well. And I can tell you love her, and I’m willing to bet she loves you too.”

Wade peered critically at Sirius for another moment.

“You understand what she is, Sirius?” he said at length.

Sirius shook his head. “Not really, no. Nor care.”

“You ought to care,” said Wade. “It’ll come back to get you, that. She’s got a lot of . . . Of foibles, Sirius.”

“The bloody hell is a foible?”

Wade waved this off. “You’re gonna do right by her. Right?”

“I’d die for her,” said Sirius, surprising them both into silence.

Wade looked at him, his eyebrows high. Then he reached out and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Well, let’s hope it never comes to that,” he said, and offered him a lopsided grin.

“Let’s,” Sirius agreed.

“Come on, let’s go take advantage of those beds,” said Wade, turning to the door. “I’m beat.”

Sirius followed him inside. Dumbledore was inspecting the chandelier hanging above them with what Sirius thought was contrived curiosity; he had no doubt that Albus had heard their entire conversation. The man didn’t miss a trick.

“I believe that our remaining here tonight is our best course of action,” said Dumbledore as they approached. “I hope you’ll not be too inconvenienced by it.”

“There are plenty of beds,” said Wade, looking around, stifling a yawn. “Take your pick.”

A moment later, Dumbledore and Wade were moving towards the far end of the room, choosing beds. Sirius hesitated only briefly before deciding where he would remain.

He nudged Rane over gently, set his wand on the windowsill nearby, and crawled into bed beside her. She was warm, her breathing gentle and regular, and he pressed his body into her back, wrapping his arms around her tightly, relishing the sensation of her heart beating gently against his hand.

He buried his face in her fragrant hair, and in moments he was asleep as the snow swirled outside.


	11. Rane Tosses her Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the prior night's events, Sirius and Rane argue about how to proceed.

Sirius opened his eyes.

He was staring up at a clean, white marble ceiling. The broad room was awash in the thin, pink half-light of early dawn. He was warm beneath a thick woven Elven blanket, and for a moment he wished only to drift off again, so profound was his comfort. He shut his eyes, reaching out for Rane’s warm body, wanting her closeness.

But his fingertips touched only the cool sheet there, and his eyes sprung open. He turned to where Rane had lay beside him all night, but she was gone, the sheet thrown aside, the pillow still indented with the shape of her head.

Sirius sat up, looking around, experiencing a moment of panic. Across the room, his companions slept on heedlessly; Remus and Tonks, together in one bed, the tops of their heads only just visible over the covers, Mad-Eye snoring lightly in a corner, one arm dangling, Wade huddled into a silent comma evident only by the crown of his head. Only Dumbledore was unaccounted for; the bed he’d occupied was neatly made and empty.

 _She died in the night,_ his mind raved wildly, _they took her away, and I slept right through it, she’s lying on a cold stone slab someplace being readied for the ground, or -_

But then his eyes fell on the door leading to the balcony where Wade had accosted him the night before, and he released an involuntary, whistling sigh of respite. Snow had wafted in where it had been left ajar, a dusty comma on the stone floor that trembled in the breeze. Outside, he could see Rane’s lean figure, standing with her arms wrapped around herself, the wind playing with the ends of her hair. She was staring out at the sunrise motionlessly.

Sirius went to the balcony, hesitating before the doorway, staring out at her there. He could see her profile in the growing, rosy light; she was staring at the horizon, and the crescent of the sun cast its fiery countenance across her face. Her eyebrows were drawn down in a moue of some distant expression Sirius couldn’t place. She had taken off her robe, leaving it in a pile near the doors, and stood in jeans and a t-shirt despite the morning chill. Below her, the land was covered in a blanket of glistening snow.

Sirius pushed the door open.

“Rane?”

She turned her head very slightly, as if listening to him, but she didn’t face him.

“Are you alright?” he asked her.

A gust of wind, bitterly cold, swept across the balcony, throwing her hair wildly about her shoulders. Sirius wrapped his robes more tightly about him, crossing his arms, his shoulders huddled.

“Rane,” Sirius repeated quietly.

“I’m sorry,” said Rane, her voice all but lost in the whistling wind.

Sirius watched the back of her head in silence.

“I could have killed you,” said Rane. Sirius saw her shake her head minutely. “Or myself. Or Ylle Thalas. Or the whole fucking world.”

The sound of crows calling to one another echoed up from the forest below, harsh and faint.

“I should have told you,” said Rane. “I should have told you _months_ ago. It’s . . . it’s dangerous, when it comes out like that. And I don’t know how to control it, it’s so huge . . . And when Dolohov cursed you, I was so _angry_ -”

“Look, I don’t care,” said Sirius, the wind throwing tendrils of his long hair about his face. “I’m just glad you’re -”

“I don’t think we should do this anymore,” said Rane in a sudden rush.

Sirius felt as if the bottom of his stomach had dropped out. Rane had leaned forward, her shoulders rounded, gripping the ledge of the balcony, still not looking at him.

“Are you _joking?”_ said Sirius at last, his voice faint, looking at her back incredulously.

“No,” said Rane, very low.

“Turn around and say it to my face, then,” said Sirius. His heart was beating much too hard.

Rane turned to him, so that Sirius could at last see her eyes, which were bloodshot and bright. The irises had returned to their usual hazel once again; in the growing morning light they seemed preternaturally vivid.

“We can’t,” said Rane, barely above a whisper. “We shouldn’t have -”

“Shouldn’t have what, exactly?” said Sirius, his voice very loud in the calm morning. He didn’t care if he woke up Remus and Tonks, or Wade, or Mad-Eye. Truthfully he didn’t care much about anything. “What shouldn’t we have done, Rane?”

Rane was looking at Sirius with a desperate expression on her face, her eyes bright.

“Sirius, do you understand what happened last night?” she said. “You can’t, you just can’t know what it means, the implications of -”

“No, I think it’s _you_ that doesn’t understand,” said Sirius. His voice was strident and trembling. He felt nauseous. “Do you _know_ what it took for me to open up to you? Because I don’t think you understand. Do you?”

Rane’s lips were pursed as she looked at him, her eyebrows knitted together, her eyes shining with tears. She nodded.

“No!” said Sirius loudly, leveling one finger at her. “No, you _fucking_ \- _don’t!_ I spent twelve years alone in Azkaban! TWELVE BLOODY YEARS! And two more eating rats and living in caves! If I had known you were going to piss off on me halfway through because of some half-cooked _bullshit_ about how dodgy you are, I would have told you to fuck right off that night you found me outside at headquarters!”

And now the tears were streaming down her face, and the rage and hurt Sirius felt was mingling now with shame, and what a lovely mix that was turning out to be.

“You’re running out on me,” said Sirius. “I don’t believe it.”

“I’m not running out on -”

“What is it you’re doing, then?”

“It isn’t safe for you to be with me, it’s dangerous, no one knows what I’m capable of, even I don’t -!”

“Oh, of bloody well _course_ it’s dangerous, Rane!” Sirius shouted. “This is war! _Everything_ is dangerous! It’s dangerous to go to the end of your drive to pick up the paper these days! I’m not going to stop loving you because it’s dangerous for me -!”

“What if I hurt you?” said Rane. “What then? What if I kill you?”

“What if you put a gun to my head, you mean?” said Sirius roughly. “What if you Avada Kedavra me off the balcony right now? I suppose I’ll be dead, then, won’t I -”

“You know very goddam well what I mean -!”

“I’m willing to take my own fucking risks, thank you very much!” yelled Sirius, and now tears were welling up in his own eyes. “And I think it should be me that decides which chances I take and which I don’t, if it’s all the same to you!”

They stood staring at each other, breathing hard, then Rane turned again to stare off into the morning sky, her shoulders shaking gently. Sirius swiped at his eyes.

“You’re a bloody coward, is what you are,” he said in a low voice.

Rane whirled around, her hair flying, her eyes suddenly burning.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!” she shouted. Suddenly she seemed very tall, very potent. “SHOULD I JUST BE COOL WITH THE POSSIBILITY THAT I MIGHT BURN YOU UP LIKE A MATCH ONE DAY?”

“YES!” Sirius roared.

“WELL I’M NOT COOL WITH IT! I’M NOT!” Rane bellowed back at him. Her eyes were streaming. “I LOVE YOU, SIRIUS -!”

“You love me.” Sirius snorted derisively, shaking his head. “So your solution is to ditch me, then? Where the bloody hell is the logic in that?”

Rane covered her face with both of her hands, her fingers digging into her forehead, her eyes tightly shut. Sirius was breathing hard.

“Everything alright?” said a voice from behind them.

Sirius turned, looking harassed. Remus stood there, one hand on the door, looking at the two of them

“Yeah, everything’s brilliant,” said Sirius in a low voice.

Remus looked from Rane, who had taken her hands away from her face and was hastily wiping at her cheeks with the heels of her hands, to Sirius, damp-eyed and red-faced, his hands on his hips.

“We’ll be leaving for headquarters shortly,” he said. “Do you need a moment?”

“No,” said Rane shortly, brushing past Sirius and Remus.

Remus turned back to Sirius, who was watching Rane’s form diminish into the broad wing. Before he could begin to form another question, however, Sirius had followed suit, striding into the broad room with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

WADE, Dumbledore and Iliwynn were standing in a circle near the entryway, speaking in low voices, when Sirius entered the room. Rane was bent over near the bed she and Sirius had shared and was pulling her boots on, her back to the rest of them. Tonks was sitting Indian-style in bed, blinking in the morning light and looking groggy, her untidy hair a vivid navy blue this morning. Mad-Eye had at last awoken; he was standing next to Remus, furiously scrubbing his magical eye on his robes.

“You lot ready?” said Wade. He had tamed his long blond hair into a knot at the nape of his neck this morning.

“Are we sure it’s safe?” asked Sirius, clearing his throat and doing his best at looking relatively put together. “No Death Eaters hanging around?”

“Iliwynn was kind enough to dispatch sentinels this morning to ensure we were not followed,” said Dumbledore. “It seems our display last night was enough to scatter them for the time being.”

“Thank you for everything, Iliwynn,” said Tonks, who had at last gotten up. “Best I’ve slept in months.”

“I hope your journey is without incident,” said Iliwynn, looking at Dumbledore. “We shall be on alert for any signs of your assailants.”

“You’ve been most gracious,” said Dumbledore, bowing slightly to her and smiling.

Rane joined them at last, pulling her cloak on. Her eyes were still red, but she was looking determinedly at the floor, stuffing her wand into her pocket, her mouth turned down.

“How you feeling, girl?” Wade asked her. He was looking at her carefully, and Sirius had no doubt that he had heard their row on the balcony.

“Alive,” Rane replied quietly. “Thanks, Iliwynn.”

“Everyone ready?” said Mad-Eye, approaching them with his wand out. He had at last reinserted his magical eye. Sirius felt a shudder of gratitude for this fact; the sight of that empty socket was unsettling. “The sooner the better . . . it’s shifty enough as it is, all of us disappearing for a whole night . . .”

“I doubt anyone will have noticed our absence yet,” said Remus, “but I suspect it’s wise to be cautious and get back to headquarter, those of us employed by the Ministry in particular.”

“Can’t say I’ve minded getting a bit of fresh air, in any case,” said Sirius truthfully.

“Not a risk I’d have taken, myself, but to each his own,” Mad-Eye muttered.

“Right well, shut yourself up for six months in your mum’s house and let me know how you fare, mate,” Sirius snapped.

Mad-Eye looked a bit taken aback at this curt reply, but Sirius paid him no mind. He was in no mood for manners.

“Doesn’t hurt to be careful, you know,” Mad-Eye replied gruffly, “it’s saved my life many times, I suspect anyone would -”

“Give it a break, Mad-Eye, for the love of god,” said Rane wearily. “Come on, let’s get going.”

“Alright, alright . . .” Mad-Eye murmured, looking mildly affronted, but he raised his wand and put his forearm out nonetheless.

“Send word if you see them,” said Wade, looking at Iliwynn. “You know where to find me.“

She inclined her head. “ _Alámenë_ , my old friend.”

“Get on with it, Remus,” said Rane, still looking at the floor, grasping Mad-Eye‘s forearm.

 _“Apparatio!”_ Mad-Eye bellowed, and with a loud POP all of them had departed Ylle Thalas at last, mercifully intact.

KINGSLEY was wandering from room to room shouting for Sirius when they arrived back in the dingy livingroom of Grimmauld Place; Rane could hear his booming voice somewhere in the vicinity of the second landing.

“Down here, Kingsley!” Remus shouted, breaking apart from the cluster.

A moment later, Kingsley’s bald head appeared over the railing.

“Where in the blue blazes have you all been?” he said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for half an hour, I thought Sirius had run off on us -”

“Well you weren’t wrong,” said Mad-Eye fairly as Kingsley descended the stairway. “Rane and Tonks had a lovely evening getting hexed at by Death Eaters, the rest of us decided to drop in and clean up a bit -”

 _“Death Eaters?”_ said Kingsley, looking stunned. “What -?”

“Shall we discuss the excitement of the evening over breakfast?” Dumbledore suggested. “I, for one, am quite famished . . .”

“Ooh, yes, let’s!” Tonks agreed enthusiastically. “Remus makes a really excellent mushroom omelet . . .”  
Sirius, meanwhile, was already slouching off towards the basement kitchen, looking thoroughly indifferent. As Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, Remus and Tonks walked into the dining room with Kingsley, Mad-Eye already launching into the debriefing of the night’s events, Rane stared at his retreating back, her stomach in knots.

“He’s an ornery cuss this morning, huh?” said Wade at her elbow.

She looked at him quickly, having nearly forgotten him in her preoccupation with Sirius. He stood looking at her, his brow knitted, pulling off his cloak slowly, one arm at a time.

“What’s going on?” Wade asked her frankly. “That sounded pretty hectic.”

Rane eyed him in trepidation. “I’m not sure.”

“Come on, girl,” Wade said. “I’m an Elf, I hear everything. Whether I want to or not.”

“You know about . . . Well, us?” Rane asked him, not really surprised.

Wade sighed. “I had a good talk with Sirius last night, yeah. He’s a good guy. I gave him my blessing.”

Rane sat down on the couch heavily. “Well, you should’ve saved your breath. I broke up with him.”

Wade sat beside her. “Now why would you go and do a stupid ass thing like that?” he asked her bluntly.

Rane looked at him, eyebrows high. “Jesus Christ, dad . . . ‘Why would I go and do a stupid ass thing like that?’ Really?”

Wade shrugged, smirking. “Well, it was a stupid ass thing to do, Rane.”

“Really? I think it was pretty smart, to be honest.”

“Oh, do tell, what part of that was smart?” Wade asked her, looking at her raptly.

Rane drew her hands down her face, groaning. “You saw what I did last night. You know what my situation is. It’s not safe.”

“You’re learning to control it.”

“Yes, maybe I am, but all it takes is one time when I can’t control it,” said Rane. “Then I’d have to live with myself. And what about Harry? He’d never forgive me if I hurt Sirius, dad, and I wouldn’t blame him . . .”

“You aren’t going to kill anyone with this unless you set about to do it,” said Wade.

“But how do you know that, though?” Rane asked him desperately. “You’ve seen it before, you know how big it is -!”

“Because you aren’t a nuclear bomb,” said Wade firmly. “And you’ve never done it before, moreover. Not even when you were a kid and you didn’t know what it was. You blew out some windows a couple times, sure, and there was that time you set all the car alarms off in the neighborhood, but you never hurt anyone.”

“It’s different now, it’s like it’s blossoming -”

“Look,” Wade cut her off sternly. “I like Sirius. Always have, right from when he was first inducted into the order, back when he was a twenty-year-old blowhard getting up to shenanigans with Remus and James and being drooled over by girls left and right -”

“Girls, _what_ girls?” said Rane, looking askance at her father.

“. . . He’s smart, he’s a talented wizard,” Wade went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “he’s a great looking guy as I’m sure you’ve noticed . . . ‘course he’s got his bad points, sure, just like you do . . . For one thing he’s a bit high strung and I personally think he’s got a case of arrested development from his time in Azkaban,” he added, looking apologetic. “But he loves the shit out of you. He does. I can tell he does.”

Rane hung her head.

“So why don’t you just accept that, for a change, instead of pushing him away because you’re chickenshit?” said Wade, giving her a lopsided grin.

“I’m not chickenshit!” said Rane, giving him an affronted look.

“Oh, you’re not?” Wade said, smirking. “How many of your boyfriends have I met over these past two or three years?”

“Shit, I dunno,” Rane said, shaking her head. “Like five? Six, maybe?”

Wade held up two fingers. “And do you know how long they hung around?”

Rane rolled her eyes. “Dad -”

“Maybe six months together. And both of them, both of them told me the same damn thing about you - that you were -”

Wade stuck his hands into his armpits and flapped his elbows once.

“- chickenshit,” he finished. “Wouldn’t even commit to the damn thing. No wonder they both hit the pavement before a year had gone by.”

“Dad, this is different, _Sirius_ is different -”

“Look,” said Wade, clutching her shoulder. “Give him a chance. Okay? Don’t run away.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, dad . . .”

“Well, that’s his choice to risk it, and not yours,” said Wade, echoing Sirius’s own proclamations. “You can’t always protect the people you love, as much as you might want to. You gotta take some chances sometimes. Otherwise you do them a disservice. And yourself, too.”

Rane looked at him, her brows knitted.

“Give the guy a chance,” said Wade. “Give yourself a chance, while you’re at it. If he knows the risks and he still loves you, you gotta let him do it. Alright?”

Rane took a deep breath and let it out.

“Ugh,” she murmured.

“Just quit being such a goddamn chickenshit and enjoy your life a little bit, you damn stick in the mud,” said Wade, getting up. “I gotta go get in on this. Go talk him down, make it right. _Bagawwww_ . . . “

Rane pointed her wand at his diminishing butt. “I’ve got the perfect shot, you better hurry your ass up and get into that kitchen . . .”

He had vanished into the dining room, where Rane could hear the muffled sound of Dumbledore explaining to Kingsley what had happened that prior night. She remained where she was for a moment, thinking, then rose to her feet and strode toward the basement kitchen.

Sirius wasn’t in there, but one of the cupboards was hanging ajar and a bottle of firewhiskey was opened on the counter. He had not even bothered to replace the cork, and he’d slopped some of it onto the countertop. Rane looked at this for a moment, then reached into the cupboard, removed a goblet, and poured herself a hefty carafe of the reddish liquid. She downed half of it in a go, relishing the hearty heat that blossomed in her chest, and shut her eyes for a moment, gripping the side of the counter, her hair hanging in her face. Then, with resolve anew, she turned toward the patio door, where the morning sun had cast the Black family logo in the glass into foggy resolution. She could see Sirius’s form out there, just where she’d met him so many months before.

She slid open the door, clutching her firewhiskey. Sirius was slouched in the chair there, one hand clutching an already mostly emptied glass; between the first two fingers of the other hand dangled a cigarette, oozing a thin stream of smoke idly toward the chilly morning sky, where fat snow clouds were blooming.

“Can I join you?” she asked tentatively.

Sirius grunted, shrugging, not looking around at her.

Rane sat in the chair at his side, curling her legs underneath her Indian-style as she so often did, setting her glass on the arm. For a moment she didn’t say anything, only looked out across the snowy courtyard. A few snowflakes, barely perceptible, were floating idly downwards now, perhaps the same system that had dumped inches upon inches onto Ylle Thalas the night before.

“Smoke?” said Sirius, lifting his own up into the air a bit, still staring broodingly out at the trees.

“With pleasure.”

He pulled the now-crumpled pack from his robes pocket, shook one out, lit it with the tip of his wand, offered it butt-first to her without looking at her. She took it gratefully, drew long and sighed with relief on her exhale.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, smoking.

“I love you, Sirius,” said Rane, very quietly.

“Hmm,” Sirius murmured. His voice had already picked up a hint of fuzz from the firewhiskey. “Funny way of showing it.”

“I know,” Rane replied, looking down at her cigarette. “I’m sorry. For . . . For being this way.”

Sirius grunted again and took a draw from his cigarette, blowing it towards the sky in a long thin stream.

“I want to be with you,” she said. “If you . . . You know, want me.”

Sirius glanced over at her at last, his eyes as red as she felt certain hers were.

“’Course I want you,” he said. “Are you mad?”

“I just need you to know,” said Rane, leaning towards him slightly, “that this thing, this thing I’ve got, I don’t -”

“I wouldn’t give a bloody fuck if you had dragon pox from stem to stern, I’d still want you,” said Sirius, “so save the pity party, what say you?”

Rane shut up.

“If you want to do this, then do it,” Sirius said to her quietly. “Stop being so afraid.”

Rane leaned back, smirking despite herself. “Chickenshit, you mean?”

“Yes! Chickenshit! That’s an _excellent_ way to put it!”

“That’s what my dad just told me,” Rane said. She snorted and finished her firewhiskey in a go. “That I’m a chickenshit if I don’t stay with you. And you know, he’s right, I am a chickenshit. I’m scared of hurting you. Or losing you.”

She swallowed against the lump that had suddenly manifested in her throat, feeling Sirius’s eyes on her.

“I’m willing to take that bet,” said Sirius simply. “You’ve just got to let me.”

Rane looked over and met his eyes. He looked at her for a moment in silence, his face unreadable, then suddenly got up, dropping his cigarette in a spray of sparks, and bending over her kissed her hard, holding her face in both of his hands.

“If you don’t want to hurt me, then don’t,” he said, drawing back, looking into her eyes, nose to nose. “I love you, Rane, I love you more than bloody anything on this fucking earth. So let me, okay?”

Rane looked up at him, her eyes glimmering. “Okay. Okay, Sirius. But -”

A peculiar expression suddenly came over her face.

Sirius drew back, looking at her in some alarm. “What?”

Rane bowed her head for a moment, holding the back of her hand over her mouth, her firewhiskey glass still grasped lightly in her hand.

“Rane, blimey, you don’t look so well, what’s -?” Sirius began, but before he could finish Rane had leapt up, dropping her glass. It exploded in a spray of glittering shards, but Rane hardly notice; she had darted for the edge of the patio, where there was a large hedge, and thrown herself halfway over the top of it. Her head cleared the edge of the bush just before she vomited violently.

“What the - bloody - _Jesus_ -” Sirius stammered, completely taken aback. He strode over to her, placed a tentative hand on the small of her back, which was still almost supine in her attempt to vault herself out of the way. “Blimey, you’ve only had one whiskey, haven’t you -?”

Rane leaned slowly backwards, searching her stomach for any signs of further eruption. She stood cautiously before him, her hand clamped over her mouth, sweat glistening on her pale brow.

“Holy fuck,” she said, muffled. “I barfed.”

“Yeah, I saw,” said Sirius, laughing in spite of himself. “Are you alright?”

Rane nodded, shutting her eyes briefly. She swallowed heavily, placing her hands on her hips.

“I dunno what the hell,” she said, shaking her head. She glanced at the shards of the glass that had moments before held the firewhiskey that she’d just upchucked all over the fresh snow.

“I’m sorry about your glass, Sirius, I know it was your family’s -”

Sirius waved this off. “What did you eat?”

“Nothing, nothing since yesterday afternoon,” Rane replied, shaking her head. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, she felt a little uneasy. It wasn’t like her to vomit randomly like that, not even under stress. “Slammed that firewhiskey too fast maybe. Do you have some Pepperup Potion somewhere inside, you think?”

“Dunno, but I’ll look, hang on,” said Sirius briskly, and in a flash he had vanished inside and gone jogging up the stairs. Rane smashed the remains of his cigarette smoldering on the ground with the heel of her shoe, then put her own out and strode inside herself.

“. . . don’t think the Minister noticed any of you were gone,” Kingsley was saying as she walked into the dining room, “but if he finds out any of you were fraternizing with the Elves he’ll want an inquest, and that’s the last thing we need.”

“I’ll make something up,” said Wade grimly, “Fudge is a little afraid of me, I think, I don’t expect he’ll make a big thing of it -”

“Him being afraid of you is exactly why we can’t give him any reason to sack you,” Mad-Eye said scathingly. “You saw what he did to your daughter just for being related to them . . .”

“I am afraid Alastor does have a point,” said Dumbledore gravely. “Cornelius will use any reason at his disposal to rid himself of those in his employ that he deems a threat. We must continue to not draw attention to ourselves. I suggest you both prepare an alibi for yesterday’s events. Tonks, as well.”

“My mum and dad will back me up if they have to,” said Tonks. “They know what a nutter Fudge is these days, they won’t mind.”

She and Remus were together at the stove, making what Rane presumed was that mushroom omelet, but the smell did nothing to rouse her appetite; indeed, it made her feel like puking all over again.

“You look a bit peaky,” said Remus, looking over at her with some concern. “Are you feeling alright?”

Rane shook her head, taking a seat. “Just barfed randomly,” she said. “All the craziness last night, maybe, I dunno.”

Sirius came back into the dining room, empty-handed. “No use,” he said grimly, taking a seat beside her. “Kreacher must’ve nicked them and hid them someplace, he’s been on a kick ever since we started swamping out headquarters . . .”

“Met anyone unusual lately?” said Moody, his magical eye rolling around at her. “Taken a drink from someone?”

“Yeah, of course, I always accept drinks from strangers,” Rane replied soberly. “Didn’t they teach you that in Auror lessons, too?”

“It’s nothing to joke about!” said Mad-Eye, leveling a gnarled finger at her and looking forbidding. “Better wizards and witches than the likes of us have snuffed it for worse reasons, y’know . . .”

“Maybe you’re pregnant,” said Tonks offhandedly as she flipped the omelet.

Wade, who had been sipping coffee, choked and began to cough abruptly.

“Don’t be stupid, she’s not pregnant,” he gasped.

A very thick silence fell at the table.

“Right?” he added, eyeing her.

Rane scoffed. “No, god, of course I’m not, what a thing to say . . .”

But she paused, looking at the wood grain on the table in front of her, thinking.

“Nah,” she murmured. She glanced over at Sirius, who, it seemed, had picked up her abrupt doubt like a fever; he was looking over at her, his eyes very wide, his mouth slightly agape, looking pale and rather alarmed.

“No,” said Rane again, looking back at him. “No, I’m not.”

“No,” Sirius agreed, shaking his head quickly.

“No! No,” Rane repeated, and threw a rather crazy grin at her father, who was looking at her very carefully. “No. I’m sure I just . . . I must have eaten something . . . “

“Well, me mum had morning sickness like a bastard when she had me,” Tonks went on, quite unaware of the tension that had sprung up behind her. “Said every morning before she’d eaten anything, she’d start spewing her - _ow,_ blimey!”

Remus had stood on her foot pointedly. He exchanged a significant glance with her, his eyebrows high, shaking his head minutely.

“Aaaaaany-way,” said Tonks heartily, “who wants some omelet?”


	12. A Small Mishap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus offers moral support to Rane in her London flat.

  
Rane sat in the bathroom of her London flat, her back against the peeling wooden door, her legs crossed Indian-style, looking down at something in her hand. Above her, a single ancient light bulb flickered and buzzed, its harsh luminosity throwing the curtainless shower into unpleasantly sharp resolution. Beneath the cracked mirror, on the yellowing porcelain sink, sat an open pink box, its monograph discarded in an indifferent wad next to the dripping faucet. Rane was motionless save for the gentle action of her breath, moving the fine hairs hanging before her face with its regular cadence.

There was a loud, open-handed knock at the door.

“Finished?”

Rane got to her feet limberly, pulling open the door behind her. Remus Lupin stood there, one hand still raised to bang on the door again. He looked at her with his eyebrows raised.

“Well?” said Remus.

At first Rane said nothing at all. She brushed past him, strode to her threadbare couch, and flopped down onto it, her long legs trailing out before her, the pregnancy test held loosely in her hand. Remus stood with his hands on his hips, waiting.

“You _are,”_ he breathed.

“Nope,” said Rane, shaking her head, still looking at her knees. She held up the test so that Remus could see the small hexagon-shaped window at its end, which was now emblazoned with an inky blue X shape.

Remus crossed the room to her and snatched it out of her hand, inspecting it hastily. After a moment he lowered it again, looking down at Rane.

“Negative,” Rane muttered, and crossed her arms over her thin chest. “Says it’s negative.”

Remus sat down beside her gingerly, setting the used test on the arm of the badly upholstered sofa which was the only real piece of furniture adorning Rane’s small, dingy apartment. The floor was stained cement, the wallpaper was ancient and peeling, and the old-fashioned furnace in the corner seemed to either be disengaged or completely inefficient; the living room was so cold Remus could almost see his breath puffing out in front of him. In truth, between her journeys to parlay with the Elves and her stints at Order headquarters, coupled with what had only a few weeks prior been a burgeoning and hectic career as an Auror, Rane found herself here so rarely that its cheerless interior perturbed her very little anymore. Indeed, maybe that was why she had found herself so quickly at home within Grimmauld Place’s gritty parapets.

Remus was looking at Rane, who had not taken her eyes from her knees.

“So you’re not pregnant,” he said, his voice cautiously neutral, seemingly unable to decide whether he should be congratulatory or consoling.

Rane said nothing. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure how she felt now that she knew for sure, after two days spent agonizing over it. During this time, Sirius had been almost preposterously attentive and affectionate towards her, bringing her an ancient Stargrass Elixir he’d found in a cupboard in his father’s study in case she became nauseous again and narrowly critiquing the constituents of every meal they shared (“Tonks, are you certain that milk is pasteurized? Maybe we all had best just have pumpkin juice . . . Perhaps pass on the smoked kippers and the pâté as well, don’t you think, Rane . . .?”).

She ought to be quite pleased, hadn’t she? Because after Tonks’s comment at breakfast that morning, she had been filled with a torrid dread that she had never experienced before. After they’d eaten (Rane managing only a token bite or two of Remus’s mushroom omelet, which was probably excellent under other circumstances), she had retired to the balcony where she had perched herself on one of the chairs, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring out at the courtyard with haunted eyes, the argument with Sirius and the previous evening’s attack quite forgotten. Rane had never been pregnant before; indeed, she had never even been in a position to worry that she could be. In fact, she had thought woefully as she sat in the early afternoon chill, watching the snow drift down, had she ever even thought about having children in all her days? She didn’t think she ever had, not with any real earnestness. She had been so consumed with her career, with the quandary her heritage had bestowed upon her, with her own mostly solitary life, and at last with falling in love with Sirius Black, that she had not spared a moment’s deliberation on such a thing as the possibility of a someday family of her own.

And now, here she sat on her shitty sofa, the negative pregnancy test she’d bought at a corner store in south London lying next to Remus with its apathetic message facing her stained tile ceiling. She had asked him to come over because she didn’t think she could bear to go through with this endeavor alone (her first instinct had been Tonks, the only other female she was friendly with that was at least somewhat near to her own age, but Tonks was away on Order duty). Remus had of course obliged, and she had seen the same fretting on his face that she felt fluttering around in her own stomach. She had been relatively comforted by his sheltering presence, had accepted the bracing one-armed hug he gave her as she stood in the doorway of the bathroom, the pink box clutched in her hand, deciding whether she would go take the stupid test or just chuck it in the trash and forget the whole bullshit thing, and never mind if she was being a chickenshit coward. Just get it over with, then you can stop agonizing over it, he had said gently, and here she was in the clear at last, and she didn’t know why she wasn’t ecstatically relieved. She was . . . What _was_ she?

“I guess not,” Rane murmured.

“I thought you would be a bit more pleased than this . . .”

“I am, I think,” said Rane in a low voice. She clasped her hands in her lap momentarily, then glanced sidelong at Remus. “I dunno, I feel almost . . .”

“Disappointed?”

Rane latched onto this word at once. Yes, _disappointed_ was the word for this feeling, it fit flawlessly. She was _disappointed._ But to say this aloud required more bravery than she was prepared to demonstrate.

“I just . . .” Rane sighed, frustrated. “I can’t have a kid, it would be just . . . Awful. Awful for all of us. I mean, there’s the Order, and Sirius is trapped at Grimmauld Place with the whole world out for him, the Ministry is on the warpath, Fudge with his head up his ass and me without a job since he fired me -”

“It wouldn’t have been awful,” said Remus, giving her a surprised look. “It would have been rather badly timed, I believe, but certainly not awful -”

“I know, I know,” Rane said quickly, nodding. “Awful isn’t what I meant, just -Remus, I’ve never been in this situation before . . .”

“Never?” said Remus, surprised. “Not with anyone before Sirius?”

“Oh give me a break,” said Rane, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. “I mean, you see how much of a pain in the ass I can be, you can’t really think they were queuing up to have babies with me before him . . .?”

“Well . . . Yes,” said Remus, shrugging. “You’re beautiful, young, clever - I’d have really thought so, yes.”

“Well, you’re overlooking some of my finer character flaws, then,” Rane replied wryly.

“Were you hoping you _were_ pregnant?”

“Fuck knows,” Rane muttered, rubbing her forehead.

Remus sat for a moment in silence at her side, watching her profile.

“You know, it’s perfectly normal,” he said at length.

“What, getting knocked up?”

Remus snorted. “No, no . . . I’m talking about you and Sirius. It’s been what, a few months now for the two of you?”

Rane took a moment to count silently on her fingers. “Six.”

“Well, you’re both the right age for it,” said Remus. “This is the natural progression of things, after all . . .”

“I don’t even know if Sirius would want . . . You know . . .” She seemed unable to bring herself to say the word _kids,_ for some reason. “I’ve never talked to him about it -”

“I rather think he does,” said Remus simply.

“Oh?” said Rane, nonplussed.

“Well, you’ve seen the way he is with Harry, haven’t you?” said Remus. “He never had much of a family growing up, after all . . . He’s mentioned it to me a few times since he’s been out of Azkaban.”

“What did he say?” Rane asked, curious despite herself.

Remus sighed, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head. He looked rather shabbier and more roughly hewn than usual, Rane noticed; there were circles around his eyes and the disheveled beginnings of a beard he hadn’t bothered to rid himself of was shot through with silver. She tried to recall if she had seen the full moon recently, but couldn’t remember; she suspected it was close at hand, one way or another.

“Before the Order was reinstated, Sirius was still on the run, of course,” Remus told her. “We didn’t see much of one another, neither of us wished to risk it, but we wrote fairly frequently, and every few months he would stay at my flat, to get out of the elements. Cold winters, you understand.”

Rane nodded, curling her legs beneath her Indian-style.

“While we were in contact, and often apropos of nothing when he was staying round at mine,” Remus went on, “he would bring up how lonely he was. Saying he wished he had someone who cared about him, the way James and Lily had one another while they were alive. He was in a bad place back then, Sirius. Living in the wild and going for weeks sometimes without seeing another soul . . . I imagine it was very difficult for someone like him. He’s a social creature.”

Remus shook his head, stroking his stubbly chin pensively.

“Talking about James and Lily would inevitably lead to Harry, of course . . . He had spent so much of all that down time devising these plans to clear his name and rescue Harry from his aunt and uncle and then find a place for the two of them.”

Rane snorted despite herself. “Harry would like that.”

“I have no doubt,” Remus agreed, smiling. “And then sometimes he’d talk about his own son or daughter. How if he found someone, he wanted to be a proper father, after all the mess with Peter Pettigrew and the Ministry was cleared away.”

Rane felt a sudden and massive surge of powerful sadness for Sirius at these words. She looked down at her hands, feeling the threat of tears at the backs of her eyes, wishing fiercely that she could hold Sirius at that moment, kiss him, show him how much he deserved anything but the shit hand he’d been dealt, how forcefully she wished to give him everything she could muster . . .

“He wants children,” Remus said once again, nodding in an assured way. “And I haven’t the faintest doubt that he wants to have them with you.”

Rane leaned back on her sofa, the springs squeaking rustily beneath her, and ran her fingers through her long hair, sighing.

“Do you?” Remus asked her.

“Do I want kids?”

Remus nodded.

Rane shook her head. “You know, it’s weird . . . Before Tonks said something about it the other day, I never even thought about it. But then, I’ve never met anyone like Sirius before . . . I’ve never, you know, wanted to make anyone happy the way I do with him. I’ve never . . . Never considered . . .”

She lapsed into silence.

“What about you and Tonks?”

Remus gave her a suddenly flustered look, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“Well, that . . . That’s different,” he said. “Tonks . . . She’s much younger than I am, and there is the problem of my . . . My condition . . .”

“Tonks is only a few years younger than me,” Rane pointed out. “And I put it to you that my condition is just as dangerous as yours.”

Remus glanced askance at her. Rane returned his gaze.

“I worry that I’ll kill someone,” she went on. “I worry that I can’t control it, and that it’s getting too powerful for me to control. I’m sure you can relate.”

Remus nodded. “I can.”

“Anyway, my point,” Rane went on, “was that Sirius still seems to like me okay. And he knows. He saw how dangerous I can be. I tried to ditch the whole thing because I was so worried I might hurt him one day, but he just . . .”

She shrugged.

“He just said he wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She glanced at Remus. “Do you ever worry . . . I dunno . . . About Tonks? That you might hurt her?”

Remus’s face fell. He looked at his shoes.

“Every day,” he said softly. “Every time I see her.”

“But she doesn’t care either, does she?” said Rane. “She loves you anyway.”

Remus said nothing.

“Well,” said Rane. “Maybe we both need to get over ourselves, then.”

Remus laughed in spite of himself, shaking his head. “Perhaps so.”

They sat in silence for a moment, meditating on this.

“Do you worry that your power will be passed on to your child?” Remus asked her suddenly.

And in a sudden rush, Rane realized that she was worried about this. Until that moment, she had not been able to convey the inarticulate horror she had felt upon that first morning, a giant looming fear so deep within her psyche that it refused to manifest itself, circling beneath her conscious mind like a colossal shark in black waters.

“It’s not power, it’s a curse,” she heard herself saying, still reeling from this realization. “And fuck yes, I’m worried. Do you -?”

“Yes,” said Remus at once. “Yes, I worry that any child of mine will be a werewolf.”

“I didn’t know lycanthropy was hereditary . . .”

“No one knows if it is or not, specifically,” Remus told her; Rane was certain that he had done his research on the matter. “There have been no cases of werewolves having children to my knowledge. It comes down to whether or not we would want to risk it.”

Rane had never discussed Remus’s lycanthropy with him at such great length. She realized with a guilty jolt that despite her frequent fretting, her own condition seemed quite tame in many ways by comparison.

“Even if it was hereditary, there are worse things, Remus,” she said quietly..

 _“Are_ there?” Remus asked her. “You haven’t seen how the wizarding world at large reacts when they know of my affliction, Rane. They can hardly bear to speak to me. Why would I wish that on anyone? Why would I wish that on my own child?”

Rane said nothing.

“We should get back to headquarters,” said Remus. “Sirius will be waiting on tenterhooks, I haven’t a single doubt . . .”

“Yeah, and my pad isn’t the most inviting place at the best of times,” Rane agreed grimly, looking around them.

Remus followed her gaze. “I must admit,” he said, “it isn’t what I had expected.”

“Yeah, it’s not much better than Grimmauld Place, really,” Rane agreed. “I lived here through Auror training and pretty much just came here to sleep for a few hours. And then once I passed the trials, I was just at the Ministry all the time anyway. Never really saw the point of fixing it up if I was only going to be hanging out here for ten hours a month, you know?” She sighed.

Remus was looking at the test, which was still sitting on the arm of the sofa. Rane followed his gaze, then snatched it up.

“Think I’ll bring this with,” she said.

“Sentimental value?” said Remus, smiling.

“Something to show Sirius,” she replied, and sighed deeply. “Saves some explaining, I guess.”

Remus reached out and squeezed her shoulder bracingly. She turned to him gratefully, returning his smile.

“Want to do the honors?”

Remus took her wrist. Rane had just raised her wand when she hesitated.

“Hang on,” she said suddenly, spinning around. “Hang on, the box -”

She dashed into the bathroom, fumbled around in the sink (knocking her empty toothbrush holder askance in the process - her toothbrush’s current home was in a cabinet in the bathroom adjacent to Sirius’s room, where it was certain to get more use), and stuffed the crumpled monograph into the bright pink box the pregnancy test had come in.

“Okay, I’m good,” she said, cramming the test itself back into the box and stuffing the whole works into her robes pocket. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

She took Remus’s wrist, and in a whirl of robes, they had vanished.

  
WHEN Remus and Rane arrived at Grimmauld Place, they were both quite surprised to find not only Sirius but Molly sitting in the living room, very obviously awaiting their arrival. There was an open bottle of Pinot Noir on the glass table before them (Rane noticed that a hefty portion of it was gone), and both of them were holding goblets.  
Sirius leapt to his feet at once so hastily that he slopped some of his wine onto Kingsley’s robes, which were fortunately the same deep red hue as the Pinot was.

“Blimey, could you have been gone any longer?” he said, striding to Rane. He took her into his arms and kissed her, tasting quite markedly of wine, then hugged her to him so tightly all the air whooshed out of her lungs in a rush.

 _“-choking-me-”_ she wheezed at his shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said distractedly, looking from her to Remus.

“Oh Rane, dear, I’ve heard everything, Sirius says you were dreadfully ill!” Molly was saying. She looked, indeed, just as harried as Sirius did; she was clutching her goblet of wine white-knuckled, looking at Rane as if she were a frail terminal patient rather than a strapping twenty-something who’d thrown up a time or two. “You know, I’ve just the potion for you if it happens again, my aunt used to brew it for me while I was pregnant for Ginny and it only takes a few days to infuse -”

“Thanks, Molly, but there’s no need,” Rane said, handing Sirius the pink box.

She was watching his face carefully as he took it. He was quite pale; he looked from her to Remus to the box in quick succession, but he made no move to pull out the test. He searched her face, his mouth drawn down into a moue of dismay, his brows knitted.

“No?” he said, sounding almost childishly forlorn.

She shook her head. “No.”

His face fell so suddenly and completely that it was as if someone had reached out and slapped him. He looked down at the test in his hands, its pink box frenetically cheerful in the gloomy living room, and sighed heavily.

“No?” said Molly, who had gotten quickly to her feet as well and was looking from the box to Rane. “Really?”

“No,” Remus agreed, pulling off his cloak.

“Oh, I was so _sure_ . . . All of her symptoms fit, didn’t they?” Molly said, sounding as disappointed as Sirius looked. “Let me see that -”

She snatched the box out of Sirius’s hand without waiting for a reply and dropped onto the couch again, dumping its contents unceremoniously on the cushion. Sirius looked at Rane once again, still looking fantastically unhappy.

“I dunno why I feel so . . .” he trailed off, looking at her desperately.

“Me neither,” said Rane, shaking her head. She reached out and took one of his hands, rubbing her thumb over his gently. “I mean, we should be happy, right? It’s . . . it’s bad timing, right, Remus?”

Remus said nothing. He, too, was looking at Sirius sympathetically. It could not have been clearer that he was hoping, in spite of everything, for a different response.

“The Order,” Sirius said abruptly, straightening. “The Order needs us. We’ve got to . . . We’ve got to put that first, haven’t we?”

“There’s a time for these things,” Remus said bracingly, clutching Sirius’s shoulder and fixing him with a concerned look. “There’ll be a time, Padfoot. There’s always -”

Molly said something so low it was unintelligible from behind them.

“What was that?” said Rane, peering around Sirius at her.

She was buried behind the crumpled monograph, which she had at last unfurled completely. With a rattle, she set it down on the table next to the Pinot Noir, brandishing the test she now held in her hand. Her eyes were round and her cheeks were very pink.

“I said,” she said in a high-pitched, breathy voice, “that this test is _positive!”_

A very profuse silence fell at this.

“No, no, it’s negative,” said Rane, shaking her head. “The blue X, see it -?”

“YES I VERY BLOODY WELL DO SEE IT!” Molly shrieked, seemingly unable to contain her excitement. “THAT - MEANS - POSITIVE!”

Sirius stared at her, his mouth agape, looking entirely baffled.

 _“What?!”_ he said, snatching the monograph up from the table. For a moment he remained buried behind it as well, and then he reached out, grabbed Rane’s arm and dragged her brusquely over to him, pointing to something at the very end of the page. Rane squinted down at where he was indicating - a section titled **HOW TO READ TEST RESULTS**.

“Bloody hell she’s right, blue means pregnant,” said Sirius in a rush, and looked at Rane with what she thought was the biggest, most utterly overjoyed smile she had ever seen on his face before. He gripped her hand so tightly she thought he would break all of her fingers like twigs. “Blue means BLOODY PREGNANT!”

“POSITIVE! IT’S POSITIVE!” Molly shrieked again.

Sirius threw the monograph over his shoulder with a flourish, grasped Rane’s face, and kissed her passionately. Then, suddenly, Molly was leaping up and embracing both of them at once in a bone-cracking hug, filling Rane’s range of view with a large amount of fluffy red hair. Remus was standing in silence, looking at Sirius and Molly with an uncomprehending, bemused smile on his face, as if politely confused. Sirius, meanwhile, abandoned all pretense altogether, turned and leapt onto the sofa, where he began to jump up and down, flailing wildly and sending pillows hither and yon.

“BLOODY SWEET HELL WE’RE PREGNANT!” he bellowed at the top of his voice, and performed a clumsy flip off the back of the couch, knocking over his goblet and almost sending the bottle of wine flying as well. He went dashing into the kitchen, his arms above his head. Presently he could be heard shouting out on the patio as well.

“PREGNANT! WE’RE - FUCKING - PREGNANT!”

Molly finally released Rane, holding her at arm’s length, already weeping freely and beaming at her.

“Oh I couldn’t be more _thrilled!”_ she shrieked, and clutching Rane’s face planted a massive kiss on her cheek. “Oh Rane, think of it, it’s _wonderful!_ So wonderful in all these dark times!”

Rane broke away from her, feeling a cold sweat breaking out on her brow. Remus had continued to stare around him as if completely baffled by this sudden turn of events. Rane snatched up the monograph that lay discarded on the floor, looking again at the directions. She cast about for the test itself, spotted it on the couch, snatched it up and held it an inch from her eyes as Molly threw her arms around Remus, sobbing her heart out.

Blue. A blue fucking X.

“See? See that?” Molly pointed needlessly to the instructions again, her eyes gleaming. She clutched Rane’s arm, looking fit to burst with the happiness and emotion of it all. Remus was peering over her shoulder, whey-faced, scanning the instructions as if to see for himself, his mouth forming the words silently.

“That’s a blue X,” said Rane faintly. “Big as Billy-be-damned.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Remus said, and began to laugh. “Congratulations!”

“Holy shit,” Rane breathed. Outside, Sirius could be heard loudly roaring a string of strange curses followed by more heralding of this news. “Holy shit I’m fucking pregnant.”

And with this, she dropped to the ground in a dead faint.


	13. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly, Sirius, Rane and Remus celebrate (and get fairly drunk). Rane reminisces on her childhood.

A great deal of alcohol was consumed that night at headquarters. Molly, who seemed positively transported by the news of Rane’s pregnancy test, wasted no time sending owls to everyone else in the Order straightaway, insisting they all join in celebrating that following weekend. As she, Sirius, Remus and Rane sat around the living room (everyone except Rane was brandishing heavy goblets of wine; Rane, feeling the first authentic cramp of wistfulness for a big, skunky glass of beer since her early twenties, held a glass of pumpkin juice instead), Molly suggested gaily over her fifth or sixth sheet of parchment that they ought to invite everyone home from school for the weekend to partake in the merriment.

“After all, Dumbledore will be coming, I’m certain he would approve,” she beamed, hiccupping. “Oh, Sirius, whatever do you suppose Harry will say?”

Remus had put away his share of wine in the spirit of good news, and Molly was nearing her perimeter as well, but no one had gotten drunker than Sirius Black that evening. He was boisterous, hearty, full of laughter. Rane had never seen him look better; indeed, despite what must have been his seventh glass of wine rocking portentously in his grasp, his eyes were alight with a sort of liveliness she had only glimpsed before this. He had knotted his long black hair at the nape of his neck, exposing the spare good looks that echoed the young, effortlessly handsome creature he had been before Azkaban; the sharp angles of his jaw line, the thickness of his neck, the lines at the corners of his mouth that deepened delightfully when he laughed, which was frequently. He looked . . . Well, _sexy,_ truthfully. Rane found herself wishing several times, quite in spite of the madness of the evening’s events, that she could whisk him away upstairs alone for her own sordid purposes.

“Harry shall be delighted,” Sirius slurred merrily, banging the flat of his hand on the table before them. “I haven’t any doubt. But you must let me be the - hic - the one to tell him, Molly, you really must, I won’t have him hearing it from anyone else -”

“Oh, naturally,” Molly replied quickly, but Rane saw her slip one of the sheets of parchment from the bottom of her stack and cram it into a wad hastily. “Remus, you’ll be telling Tonks, won’t you?”

Remus nodded promptly. “And Alastor. They’ll be thrilled.”

“You really think Harry and Ron and the rest of them should come home for this?” said Rane dubiously. She was sitting in her trademark manner, Indian-style on the sofa, Sirius close at her side with one arm slung around her shoulders. “You don’t think Dolores will throw a shit fit if she finds out?”

“Oh, she’ll throw a fit, alright,” said Remus grimly. “I suspect that if they do come to headquarters for the weekend, it will have to be with the help of Dumbledore himself, and I daresay he may not be wild about the idea -”

“Oh nonsense!” Molly said, waving her hand. “That old bat hasn’t got any real power -”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Rane darkly. She knew Dolores Umbridge from her days at the Ministry, and could think of only a handful of people she disliked more; Umbridge had gone well out of her way to discourage Fudge from allowing Rane to undergo Auror training, and Wade had frequently voiced his theory that it had been more Umbridge masterminding her expulsion from the Auror office than Fudge himself. Though Rane and Wade had stayed well out of her way for the most part, Umbridge had made it quite clear to everyone that she found the idea of the Ministry employing Elves, whether full-blooded or not, highly irregular and faintly revolting. Rane felt genuinely sympathetic for everyone laboring beneath her sovereignty at Hogwarts.

“Blimey,” said Sirius wonderingly, for what was probably the tenth or eleventh time that evening. “I just can’t believe it.”

Swaying slightly, he glanced over at Rane, who he had kept on his immediate person all evening, as if afraid she would evaporate if he wasn’t touching her. She looked back at him, her expression mirroring his incredulity.

“Me neither,” said Rane quietly.

This was the truth; she couldn’t believe it, quite literally couldn’t. She felt certain that this must be how bombing survivors felt; the world around her felt contrived and fictitious, and even her own emotions - largely a mixture of dizzy exhilaration and sheer terror - seemed oddly counterfeit. She wondered uneasily if the reality of the situation would just suddenly strike her like a bolt from the blue without warning at some point, perhaps after this peculiar battle fatigue had worn off. Maybe the shock would do her in, who knew.

Sirius was still looking over at her. He reached out and stroked her thigh gently.

“I _fucking_ love you,” he said.

“I fucking love you too,” said Rane, grinning at him despite herself. He wore such a comically affectionate expression that it wouldn’t have looked out of place on a cartoon character. “You sure are drunk, ain’tcha, babydoll?”

“I’m not!” Sirius replied, giving her an exaggeratedly affronted look.

“Oh, yeah? How much wine have you had?” Rane asked him wryly.

“You’re wellied, alright, mate,” said Remus, looking highly amused.

“Oh honestly you two, let him celebrate, who’s counting tonight?” Molly piped up from where she was bent over her parchment, still scribbling away; this one appeared to be addressed to Bill Weasley. “It isn’t every day you get to celebrate this sort of thing, you know . . .”

Rane had to hide her smile in her goblet of pumpkin juice; it was a rare thing indeed for Molly to defend Sirius in the best of cases. Indeed, it was seldom that they entirely got along with one another at all . . . Molly had made it clear in the past that she disapproved of many of Sirius’s more reckless traits, in particular with regards to his tendency to treat Harry like the man he would become rather than the boy he was.

“But really, can you believe it?” said Sirius again, spreading the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Rane expansively outwards (a splash of wine slopped over the edge, landing on Molly’s parchment and causing her to squeak in surprise). “I mean, honestly, Moony, can you believe it? Me . . . a dad? It’s barmy just to - hic - think about!”

Remus burst out laughing, shaking his head. “It is,” he said, leaning back. “It’s the maddest thing.”

“Isn’t it?” Molly agreed, looking up and shaking her head.

“Can you imagine what James would be saying right now?” said Remus, grinning.

Sirius threw his head back and bellowed laughter, leaning against Rane heavily. Rane, quite unable to help herself, was laughing as well, though James had died before she was ten years old and she’d never known him. Sirius’s obvious mirth was absolutely contagious. It was wonderful seeing him like this.

“Ahh, but I wish he and Lily were here for this,” Sirius said wistfully, leaning back. The hand not slung over the sofa was tickling the back of Rane’s neck gently beneath her hair. He cast a rather sorrowful look at the ceiling, where the ornate Black chandelier hung. “I haven’t even got any family to tell. What use is good news if you haven’t got anyone to share it with?”

“Fuck that,” said Rane fairly, and leaned her head on his shoulder, holding him tighter against her. “We have a whole mess of people to tell. I mean, just look at Molly, she’s practically writing a novel over there . . .”

“It’s true!” Molly agreed, gesticulating at her parchment. “Just look at this stack already! And I haven’t even gotten to Charlie yet . . .”

Sirius was stroking Rane’s hair gently. She kissed his shoulder, rubbing his chest.

“Have you got anyone to tell?” Sirius asked her. “Blimey, I don’t even know if you’ve got siblings or not -”

“I don’t,” said Rane, glancing sidelong at him.

 _“_ None?” Sirius looked surprised.

Rane shook her head. “Just me. I must have been so much of a pain in the ass that my parents decided to stop reproducing.”

Remus snorted into his wine.

“You only had one brother, right?” Rane said to Sirius.

Sirius glanced at her, surprised. “Regulus, yeah. Did I tell you -?”

But Rane was shaking her head. “The Ministry was really interested in him for a time there.”

“Were they?” Remus asked her, looking as curious as Sirius.

Rane sipped her pumpkin juice. “Well, he was a Death Eater,” she said at length. She glanced at Sirius, fearful that she had offended him, but he was sitting at her side quite peaceably, his wine in one hand, looking at her with a polite, crisp interest that seemed to be a mainstay of the English people which did not diminish as a result of alcohol consumption.

“But that was years ago,” said Molly. “Regulus died during the First War . . . You can’t be old enough to have -”

“Oh, we knew he was dead,” Rane went on, “this was back when Sirius got out of Azkaban . . . They had no clue where he might be so they were looking into where Regulus had been seen last. I hadn’t taken my trials yet so I didn’t get in on a lot of the finer stuff, but . . . Desperation,” she added with grim satisfaction.

Sirius snorted contemptuously. “He was an idiot. Got just what he deserved, I reckon.”

“Don’t you have _any_ family, Rane, dear?” Molly asked her.

Rane shook her head. “Not really. My mom’s side keep their distance, I doubt many of them even know my name. And my dad’s side . . . Well, it’s weird with Elves, because they’re so old. I know my grandfather, but that’s about it. He’s a noble from Valynor, I don‘t see him very much.”

“What’s he like?” Remus asked curiously.

“Scary,” said Rane truthfully. Her grandfather, Orris, was one of the most intimidating Elves she’d ever met. He was tall and imposing with steely blue eyes, long gray-blonde hair and a rumbling, thundery voice.

“Scary?” Molly was saying.

“Yeah,” Rane said, nodding. “Scary. He’s a nice guy, though, after it all. He gave me this when I graduated Hogwarts.”

With a practiced, sinuous grace that made Sirius recoil, Rane reached into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled out a short, brutal-looking silver blade. She twirled it about her fingers for a moment before replacing it with a clang.

“Have you had that all this time?” said Remus, looking bewildered.

“I always keep it with me,” said Rane, shrugging. “It’s spell-forged steel,” she added with pride.

“Blimey, I’ll remember not to wake you up too suddenly from now on,” said Sirius, eyebrows high.

“When we visited Ylle Thalas,” said Remus, looking hesitant, “your father mentioned that you were, er - generally unwelcome there -”

“They don’t like that there’s a half-Elf,” said Rane, looking at him with an expression of something akin to derision. “They didn’t want their bloodline tainted. So they like to pretend that I don’t exist.”

She fell silent, thinking of the child growing in her womb. She wondered darkly how the Elves of Ylle Thalas and Elyfalume would react if they knew. When they knew, she corrected herself; it was nigh on impossible to keep anything from the Elves.

“Bet they won’t be happy about this,” said Sirius, clearly thinking along the same lines.

“Well, they can kiss my entire ass,” said Rane shortly. Sirius snorted.

“Where is your mum?” asked Molly, looking up at her curiously. “You know, in all the years I’ve known Wade, I’ve never -”

“Molly,” said Remus warningly.

“What?” said Molly, looking honestly bewildered.

“Nah, it’s okay,” said Rane, waving this off. “She’s in the States. I see her every here and there.”

“What’s she like?” asked Sirius, looking at her over his wine.

“She’s . . .” Rane inclined her head, thinking. “She’s not someone I‘d like any of you to meet, how about that.”

“Even me?” said Sirius.

 _“Especially_ you.”

“Why’s that?”

Rane hesitated, looking into Sirius’s eyes. She had never discussed her mother with Sirius; indeed, she had hardly discussed her mother with anyone in a lot of years. She sighed, clasping her hands together before her.

“She cheated on my dad when I was little, so my dad took me and we came to England, to be closer to his family in Elyfalume -”

“What’s Elyfalume?” said Molly.

“It’s the Elven province here,” said Rane, “I think it goes all the way up to Wales, but I can never remember for sure.”

Molly nodded, looking fascinated. Her quill hung poised over the sheet of parchment she was writing to Bill as she listened, her eyes slightly red.

“Anyways, my mom stayed over there,” Rane went on. “It was a big deal because my dad had basically exiled himself from the Elves to be with her, and then she went and did that . . . He got a lot of shit for a while. It was pretty bad . . . I mean, imagine becoming an expatriate for some woman who runs around on you in front of everyone you know. It must have been humiliating. And after that, she . . . Well, we don’t talk very much. She’s . . . she’s mean, sometimes. So I stay away, mostly.”

She fell silent, suddenly cognizant of how attentively Sirius, Remus and Molly were listening to her.

“My dad doesn’t talk about that a whole lot anymore,” she finished.

“What does she look like?” asked Sirius.

Rane looked at him, bewildered. “Who, my mom?”

“Yeah,” said Sirius, smirking. “Go on.”

Rane snorted. “Actually, I think I have a picture of her, hang on -”

She reached laboriously into her back pocket and produced an ancient, peeling leather wallet, which she flipped open and began to rifle through..

“I know I’ve got one _somewhere_ . . . Ah!”

She flicked an aged, careworn photograph smartly into Sirius’s lap. He picked it up and inspected it. A woman beamed up at him; a small child was sitting cross-legged on the top of a table beside her, quite obviously a young Rane Roth. She had already begun to develop the startling beauty she would one day possess as an adult, with her round hazel eyes and long dark hair. Her mother, however, was nothing short of gorgeous; Sirius could see why Wade had endured exile for her at once. She was tall and lean, her full lips curved into a smile, and a spill of curly black hair was slung over her shoulder with a careless sort of grace. Rane did, indeed, look exactly like her . . . There was something oddly salacious about her mother that had not been passed on, Sirius thought, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but everything else was eerily spot on, right down to the high cheekbones and long, sooty eyelashes.

“You’re very like her,” said Sirius, feeling that this was a vast understatement.

Rane took the photo back, examining it with an expression of wistfulness. “Yeah, so I’m told.”

Molly snatched the picture and examined it, holding it close to her face. Remus was peering over her shoulder as well. He whistled, low.

“She’s lovely,” he remarked. “We know where you must get your looks from.”

“Wade’s a good-looking bloke,” said Sirius fairly.

“Oh, he _is,_ isn’t he?” Molly agreed eagerly.

Remus, Sirius and Rane all turned to her. Molly’s face went scarlet at once.

“Well . . . Well, he is good-looking,” she said quietly, furiously folding her parchment. “You know, as they go . . .”

“Oh, that reminds me!” said Rane, her eyes sparkling, looking over at Sirius as she folded the picture back into her wallet and jammed it into the pocket of her jeans. “The other day my dad said something about how girls used to fall all over themselves over you . . . I never realized you were such a stud back in the day, Sirius Black, you filthy lecher, you . . .”

Sirius took a large gulp of wine, his face red, examining the chandelier with great interest, and said nothing. Remus, however, had burst out laughing.

“Is it true?” said Rane, looking from Sirius to Remus, grinning. “Remus, come on, you wouldn’t lie to me . . .”

“He was always the one getting all the girls, wasn’t he?” he said, wiping at his eyes. “From Hogwarts on . . . Bit of a girlfriend hopper, weren’t you, mate?”

Sirius mumbled something about a load of rubbish.

“Well, you must admit, he’s always been so handsome, hasn’t he?” said Molly, folding her final sheet of parchment at last.

“He _is_ a sexy devil,” Rane agreed fondly, patting her cheek. Sirius’s face was nearing an alarming shade of maroon now.

“Do you remember when Dumbledore initiated you?” Remus said to Rane abruptly. “After we’d met?”

Now it was Rane’s turn to flush. Sirius looked between them curiously.

“What’s he on about?”

“I kind of . . . Well, I guess had a little bit of a crush on you,” Rane confessed, feeling absurdly shy about the fact, though given the current state of affairs it seemed ridiculous.

Sirius slapped his knee. “I KNEW IT!”

“What?” Rane looked over at him in surprise.

“Well, I should bloody well hope I can still spot it when a girl fancies me after all this time!” Sirius replied, laughing merrily. “Anyway, it didn’t take a detective, did it?”

“It was a bit obvious, dear,” Molly agreed, looking at her apologetically.

“Obvious?” Rane could feel her face burning. “It was obvious? I mean, I thought I handled myself pretty well, really, considering -!”

“I should hardly think so,” Remus said, smirking. “You were all the time knocking over furniture and dropping things whenever Sirius was around, we all could tell what was going on . . .”

“You know, Arthur and I rather thought at first that it was Bill,” Molly said thoughtfully. “Before Fleur came along, he said a few times that he wondered if Rane was spoken for or not, mentioned he thought she was quite pretty, that sort of thing -”

“He did, did he?” said Sirius sharply, looking dismayed.

“It was ages ago, don’t worry,” Molly said, waving at him over her wine goblet. “Anyway, even when Bill didn’t come round Rane was still making a bit of a fool of herself, it was quite obvious who she was on about, and Sirius was just as bad . . .”

“Subtlety isn’t Sirius’s strong point,” Remus added, looking amused.

“I tried to make a pass at you ages ago,” Sirius said to Rane, grinning. “You were just too thick to notice, I think . . .”

“You did _not_ -!”

“I did!” Sirius retorted. “I was always trying to chat you up, too! Mooney was forever shouting at me about it, as a matter of fact . . .”

“Bullshit, I would have realized . . . When?”

“Oh, blimey . . .” Sirius leaned back, pondering. “Let’s see . . . What about the night you broke your finger?”

Rane had nearly forgotten that eventful evening. She had arrived at headquarters late one evening for a meeting and somehow managed to slam her hand in the heavy front door as she’d shut it behind her, eliciting a loud yelp from her. She had still been leaping around holding her injured hand to her chest and swearing raucously when Sirius had come trotting into the foyer, looking alarmed.

 _What’s wrong, Rane?_ he had asked her, striding towards her, looking concerned.

 _Door - fucking - finger - god - dammit - fucking - hell_ -! Rane had continued to dance about, hissing in pain, loosing a string of curses. Oh mother-fucker that hurts -!

 _Here, let’s have a look, come into the light_ , Sirius had said, his voice gentle, and he’d led her into the livingroom, one hand on her waist. Rane hadn’t thought anything of this small gesture at the time, being a bit distracted by her crushed thumb. Sirius had sat her down on the sofa, taken a seat beside her (and hadn’t he sat so very close to her, much closer than necessary?).

 _Let’s see it_ , he had said, and had taken Rane’s injured hand in his, his touch gentle, and inspected it critically. Her thumb was a crooked mess, already blossoming into a bloom of blue and purple. Rane had cringed sickly away from the sight of it; she was a fearless person in most ways, but something about fractured bones set her teeth on edge, always had.

 _Well, it’s definitely broken_ , Sirius had announced unnecessarily. He produced his wand from the pocket of his robes. _Shall I straighten you out, then?_

Rane had never broken anything before, nor had such an injury rectified with magic. She eyed his wand guardedly.

 _You’ve done this before, right?_ she had asked Sirius.

 _‘Course I have_ , Sirius replied, smirking. _Loads of times._

Rane hesitated. _I dunno, maybe I should just -_

  
Episkey! Sirius had muttered, aiming his wand at her thumb before she could finish. Rane knew a momentary crescendo of brief, shrill agony, bringing a low gasp out of her quite

involuntarily; a second later, however, it had vanished. She wiggled her thumb cautiously; it obeyed her without hesitation or pain.

 _Can’t do anything about the bruising, sorry_ , Sirius had told her grimly, looking up at her and grinning.

 _Jesus, thanks, Sirius_ , Rane had said to him, meeting his eyes.

He held her gaze, his grey meeting her hazel; he still held her hand loosely in his own. And now that she wasn’t distracted by pain, she was sharply cognizant of how very near to her he was. He was stroking her palm with his thumb very lightly, but this simple, almost offhanded touch was enough to alight all kinds of things within Rane. She was abruptly aware of her heartbeat, suddenly quick and heavy.

 _You’ve got lovely eyes_ , Sirius had told her quietly, still gazing at her.

Rane had opened her mouth and shut it. She was very aware of the sensation of his skin, the tiny shoots of gold within his irises, the lines at the corner of his mouth that she found so oddly charming.

 _Sirius_ \- she had begun, but then Mad-Eye had shouted at them from the door of the kitchen.

_Oy! Will you lot hurry it up, we’re all waiting for you!_

Rane broke away from Sirius, standing up, the moment passing as suddenly as it had come. He followed suit, looking rather disappointed, and together they had walked into the kitchen to join the meeting. And hadn’t he spent a lot of time that evening looking at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention?

“Okay, so maybe I was a little thick,” she admitted, looking at Sirius.

“A _little?”_ said Sirius. “Blimey, I don’t think you’d have taken the hint if I’d come right out and said I was in love with you! ‘A little’ . . . Honestly . . .”

“Anyway, what did you ask Remus?” Molly asked Rane, looking curious. “I never heard this one . . .”

“Well, it was the first week she was in the Order, as I recall,” said Remus, leaning back, his goblet held in one hand resting on the arm of his chair. He was stroking his chin pensively, smiling. “One evening we were standing in the hallway about to leave, and all of a sudden she just came right out and said, _Sirius is so handsome_. Apropos of nothing, you understand.”

Rane flushed a deeper crimson as Molly and Sirius both burst out laughing. She remembered the occasion he was referring to. She had been peering back towards the kitchen as she pulled on her riding cloak. Sirius had been standing there, just visible through the doorway, talking animatedly to Arthur and gesturing heatedly about something. Something about him standing there . . . the firelight on his face, the ropey muscles in his forearms flexing, his knitted brows, the flash of his teeth . . . Had suddenly stricken her, forcefully. Not for the first time but certainly for the most extreme, she had recognized that she was deeply attracted to him, a realization she had been stifling with all her might for some time now. She hadn’t realized what she was going to say until it was out; as soon as she’d spoken this aloud, she turned hastily to Remus, who had paused pulling on his coat and was looking at her in surprise.

 _Yes,_ he had said, one eyebrow cocked. _I suppose so_.

 _I just meant . . . I mean, he’s . . . he’s awesome, he’s a great guy_ , Rane had blurted, feeling ungainly. _I didn’t - well, never mind, he’s just . . . He’s great_.

Yes, Remus had said again, still looking at her, one arm of his jacket on. Yes, Sirius is an excellent fellow.

Rane had fallen clumsily silent, buttoning her cloak quickly, her face burning, feeling Remus’s gaze on her.

 _Rane,_ said Remus, his voice curious, _do you fancy him_?

 _Who?_ Rane had replied.

_Sirius._

Rane scoffed, waving a hand. _Do I - what? Sirius? Nah, no way._

Remus had worn a very curious and rather maddening smile as he looked at her.

 _You know, he quite likes you_ , he had said. _You ought to -_

 _I should probably get going,_ Rane had said quickly. _It’s getting late - good seeing you, Remus -_

And with this she had brushed past him hastily and slipped quickly out the door, feeling his eyes following her out into the evening chill.

“I had forgotten about that night,” said Remus fondly, looking over at Sirius.

“Mooney came and told me straightaway, of course,” Sirius said, lifting his goblet towards Remus.

Remus tilted his own back at Sirius in return. “What kind of mate would I be if I hadn’t?”

“Remus! You told him?” Rane remarked, giving him an injured look.

“Oh, you lot are the worst,” Molly said, shaking her head and getting to her feet, gathering her stack of parchment to her bosom. “I’m off to send these out . . .”

“Sometimes I rather think I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” said Lupin lightly, examining his goblet. “He was quite insufferable afterwards . . .”

“Oh get stuffed, you great prat,” said Sirius, laughing.

“It’s true!” Remus insisted. “Your bloody head would have floated away if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders -”

“Fuck,” said Rane abruptly, and in a flash she had gotten to her feet and fled the room, one hand clamped over her mouth. Sirius and Remus stared after her, bewildered. The sound of the bathroom door banging open came to them, followed by the unmistakable sound of Rane losing her lunch.

Sirius set his goblet down, peering after her. “Blimey, should I -?”

“Relax,” said Remus. “She’s alright.”

“How long does this keep on?” Sirius asked him frankly. “I don’t remember if Lily was sick like this with Harry, it’s been so long . . .”

“That’s a Molly question, but I suspect it shan’t get any better anytime soon,” Remus told him, shrugging.

Sirius sat back, sighing, rubbing his forehead. After a moment, with an air of having made up his mind, he set his goblet down on the table and got up, swaying slightly, and strode toward the bathroom.

Rane was knelt over the toilet, her shoulders hunched, hugging the ancient toilet. Her hair was hanging in her face, which had picked up a thin sheen of sweat.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked her, leaning in the doorway hesitantly.

“I’m walking my dog,” Rane replied sardonically, casting a wry smile up at him.

“What can I do?” Sirius asked her tentatively.

Rane reached up, flushed, and stood carefully, the back of her hand over her mouth. She looked up at him, her forehead sparkling with perspiration.

“You can come to bed with me,” she said.

“On one condition,” said Sirius solemnly, leaning against the door jamb.

“Anything.”

“Brush your teeth first,” said Sirius, and leapt nimbly out of the way as Rane aimed a kick at him, laughing.  



	14. An Unexpected Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Rane break the news to Wade Roth, whose reaction is less than what they'd hoped for.

Wade stood staring from Rane to Sirius and back to Rane again with the slow deliberation of a man observing some spectacle of nature that had never before been witnessed. His angular face was pale, his light blue eyes as round as quarters in his head. They were standing in the corridor of the headquarters of Order of the Phoenix, Rane and Sirius side by side, Wade just inside the doorway with his cloak halfway off, frozen. Rane was looking at him with her brows knit, as if expecting a blow at any second; Sirius, meanwhile, was staring at Wade with a broad, slightly manic smile on his face. There was a glisten of sweat at his hairline.

“Come again?” said Wade in a deadly quiet voice.

He was staring at Sirius in particular from beneath his brows, looking positively scary, even though it had been Rane that had spoken. She cleared her throat pointedly, feeling absurdly like a matador waving a red flag.

“I said I’m pregnant, dad,” she said.

Wade nodded, pulling his cloak the rest of the way off, his mouth turned down at the corners in a mild, dangerous expression Rane remembered well from her childhood (it usually meant her latest misconduct had been found out, and sentencing would commence shortly). Rather than hanging it on the serpent-headed rack that stood beside the door, he simply opened his hand and dropped it into a pile on the floor. A little puff of dust wheezed out of the carpet. He had still not taken his eyes from Sirius, whose crazy grin had at last begun to falter a bit.

“That’s what I _thought_ you said,” said Wade.

Rane had not meant for it to come out like this when she had summoned her father to headquarters, not at all. She had envisioned a comfortable, controlled environment in which she plied her father with wine, perhaps, loosened him up a tad, then broke the news gleefully while clasping Sirius’s hands in her own and beaming up at him, just a couple of crazy kids in love with a bright future stretching out before them and nary a care in all the world. Rane had even come up with a decent line: _Dad, we have some really exciting news_. And after this poignant presentation had concluded, Wade would of course crow with delight, wring Sirius’s hand in both of his own and croon his slightly slurred, genial congratulations, perhaps with tears of joy sparkling in his eyes.

Instead, it had gone like this: Wade had knocked on the door, and Sirius and Rane, who had been sitting in agonized anticipation side by side on the sofa, had leapt up together, jostling one another to reach the door first. Rane had won, with Sirius cursing behind her vehemently and yanking the sleeve of her hoody, and yanked the door open. Wade had walked in, and before he had time to speak a single word, Rane had simply exclaimed it, unable to contain herself a single moment longer: I’m pregnant.  
Presently, Wade steepled his fingers, held them before his mouth, closed his eyes, and exhaled deeply, as if steadying himself. Rane found this more alarming than anything that had come before.

“Sirius,” said Wade at last. “Come on outside for a minute.”

Without waiting for a response, he brushed roughly between them, striding towards the veranda doors. Rane heard him pull them open and then slam them both behind him, rattling the glass distressingly. Sirius looked over at Rane, his eyes wide.

“Reckon he’s angry?” he asked in an alarmed whisper.

“Nooo, ” said Rane quickly (this sounded decidedly more reassuring than her honest opinion, which was _He’s furious_ ). “He’s - just - you better just go, Sirius -”

Sirius cast her a final, terrified look, then strode towards the veranda doors, where Wade was visible through the smoked glass, standing with his back to them, staring out at the grounds with his hands on his hips. Rane watched him go uneasily, her arms folded.

SIRIUS SHUT the door behind him and stood there, his hands shoved into his pockets against the cold. Wade didn’t turn around just yet. Nearby, the hoot of an owl sounded in the growing evening sky, very loud in the silence between them.

“Wade . . .” Sirius sighed, shifting his weight. “Look, I know it’s a bit of a surprise, but we -”

But Wade lifted one hand, open-palmed, at his side, the other still on his waist.

“Stop,” said Wade, very low. “Just . . . stop.”

Sirius shut up, watching him. Wade lowered his head, sighing. A long moment of silence passed, punctuated only by the scree of crickets.

At last, Wade ran his fingers through his long blond hair roughly, then finally turned to face Sirius, who was whey-faced and still.

“Sirius, you don’t understand what you’ve done,” he said in a low voice.

He didn‘t look angry, exactly . . . In fact, the expression on his face was so foreign, so utterly unlike him, that Sirius didn‘t immediately recognize it for what it actually was: fear, almost panic. His eyes were burning in his ashen face, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his squared face seemed pitted.

“Wade, I haven’t got any plans to just . . . Just up and leave her,” said Sirius haltingly. “I love her, mate, I’ve told you -”

“Love can’t help you now, my man,” said Wade. “Not now.“ He sighed again, shaking his head and staring up at the sky, looking utterly exasperated. “God _dammit,_ I just can’t believe this . . .”

Sirius stared at him, bewildered. “Look, we’ll be alright,” he said. “It’ll be hard I’m sure it’ll be hard, but the Ministry doesn’t know where I am, and Rane’s not an Auror anymore, we’ll just -”

“Has it occurred to you what she _is_?” said Wade, his voice rising slightly.

“What d’you mean?”

“Didn’t Iliwynn tell you in Ylle Thalas?”

Sirius was beginning to feel mildly unsettled. This was not the response he had expected, not at all.

“You mean a half-Elf.”

Wade reached out and gripped Sirius’s shoulders suddenly, looking into his eyes. Sirius had never been so close to Wade before. His face was too smooth for a man his age, his eyes far too clear. The realization that he was not human - not even _close_ to human, indeed - came to Sirius again, startling and unnerving. If ever there was a time when he was brutally aware of Rane’s strange birthright, it was now.

“She’s not just a half-Elf, she’s the _only_ half-Elf. _Ever.”_

“Wade-”

“But it’s more than that,” said Wade, shaking him gently. “It’s _more._ You hear me?”

“Wade - I don’t understand.” Sirius shook his head, feeling the beginnings of impatience. “Sir, with all due respect, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that she’s half-Elf, Sirius.”

“I understand that,” said Sirius. He sighed, taking a step forward. “Sir, we’re both adults here. Please level with me. Because I’m confused as hell.”

Wade released Sirius, took a step back, folded his arms over his chest. He looked at Sirius for a few moments in silence, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed in a very Rane-like way, as if deciding what to say.

“You know, I was in y’all’s situation one time too,” he said. “I was younger -”

“I thought Elves were immor -”

“We are,” Wade said before Sirius could finish, nodding. “Relative term. Anyway, I was young enough to be a goddam idiot - and I thought I was in love with someone. Someone from a different race. A different species.”

“And how is that like us?” said Sirius, unable to keep a touch of insolence from his voice.

Wade looked at Sirius as if he‘d never heard a stupider question, a smile playing about his face.

“Sirius,” he said softly, “Rane is _not_ like you. Or me. Make no mistake.”

“Bit of a harsh thing to say about your own daughter.”

“Love and clarity aren’t mutually exclusive,” said Wade bluntly. “Now hush and listen to what I have to say to you, for both your sakes.”

Sirius fell silent, watching him.

“Now I was telling you about Rane’s mom, I think,” Wade went on. “It’s a long story, but the short version is, I was exiled from my people, and I know you of all folks ought to know how hard on someone that can be, when the whole world decides you aren’t worth the shit under their shoe, ain‘t that right?”

“Yes.”

“It isn’t easy, is it?”

Sirius shook his head. “No, sir.”

“But I went through with it,” Wade went on, his voice rough. “I went through with it because I knew, I _knew_ I was doing the right thing. And it turned out that woman wasn’t worth a good goddam. She treated me like shit and she treats her own daughter shit to this very day, although I bet you won’t ever hear Rane admit that unless she’s good and drunk.”

“What d’you mean?”

Wade shook his head. “You ever heard Rane mention her? Even a single time?”

Sirius pondered this.

“Only when I asked,” Sirius replied, thinking back to a few nights ago. “She said her mum was . . . Not very nice.”

Wade laughed coldly. “Hell of an understatement. That woman wrote Rane off before she had hit twelve, Sirius. She thought magic was sinful and the Elves were worse, so you can just imagine. A half-Elf daughter at Hogwarts was just about the worst thing she could imagine. She doesn’t even talk to Rane. I doubt she even knows when her birthday is anymore.”

Sirius thought back to the night when Rane had showed him, Remus and Molly the photo of her mother. He'd been drunk, but not drunk enough to overlook the pained expression on her face as she stared down at the picture, the way her eyes had narrowed and her brows had descended, the way the corners of her mouth had turned down, spoiling her polite smile, turning it into a moue of some deep, barely acknowledged sadness. And something else, too, something he remembered only now.

Rane had been lying in bed with Sirius, nude, post-coital in her warmth and closeness. Sirius had asked her if she was cold; instead of answering, Rane's eyes had gone far away for a moment, her mouth turned up into a small smile, perceptible only by her dimples.

_What are you smirking about?_ he'd asked her, smiling himself.

 _Nothing,_ said Rane. She hesitated, then, with absurd pride, added, _My mom made me an afghan when I graduated Hogwarts. She sent it to me. You just reminded me, that's all._

Sirius had rubbed her shoulder, trying not to betray how bewildered he had been by this statement. His mother had been a rather horrid old thing in the end, but she'd made him _lots_ of things, after all; blankets, least of all. He wasn't sure why she was telling him this at all, or why her face was so full of affection and pride.

 _What color?_ he had asked, mostly because he wasn't sure what else to say.

Rane's dimples deepened; her eyes were sparkling in a way Sirius had never seen before.

 _Purple,_ she said softly.

"She said her mum made her a blanket," Sirius said presently.

Wade's eyes turned down for a moment. A curious expression crossed his face.

"She did, yeah," he said, and paused before continuing. “But her mom is small time compared to the Elves,” he went on grimly. “They may not have liked Lori and me, but they _hated_ that Rane was born. That was a prophecy from eons ago, from before Men walked this earth, before Iliwynn was even was around, and you can bet your ass that they didn’t like it that a lowborn warrior and a goddam _human woman_ were responsible for bringing it about.”

“That’s different,” said Sirius. He was beginning to see where this was headed, and despite the almost devout respect he had for Wade - that everyone in the Order had for him - he could feel the beginning ember-burn of indignation in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like to hear this - this scarlet woman being compared to Rane, whether it was her mother or not. “I’m not a _lowborn,_ I’m a pureblood wizard, not that it means anything, and Rane isn’t a - a cheating - _anything_ -!”

“You’re missing my point,” said Wade. “Rane’s a good girl, don’t get me wrong. A damn good woman and a fighter. And you’re a good man, as far as I can tell, though I wasn’t crazy about your family -”

“Makes two of us -”

“But you’re still mixing two species,” said Wade. “You’re tampering with things, with laws of nature, that ought not be tampered with, and you don’t, you can’t understand what that could mean for you. For the kid, for Rane, for the goddam entire _world.”_

Sirius scoffed, putting his hands on his hips. “What does the entire world have to do with -?”

“You _saw_ what Rane did the other night, didn’t you?” Wade interrupted.

“Yeah, I guess, but what -?”

“Well, imagine that but scaled up tenfold,” said Wade. “A _hundredfold,_ even. What that means to the -”

“What does it mean, then?” said Sirius. “Tell me, Wade, because I guess I’m too stupid to -”

“Well, you damn sure might be, you’re right, because you went and knocked up my daughter and put all of us in a pretty fucked up situation,” said Wade coarsely.

Sirius stared at him hard, the breeze teasing the ends of his long hair, fiercely withstanding the urge to give way to his temper, which was as usual bubbling just beneath the surface, ready to brim over at the slightest urging. The man that stood before him was dangerous, and in more ways than one.

Wade took a deep breath, covered his face with his hands for a brief second, and then continued.

“Rane wasn’t supposed to be born at all,” he said slowly. “Elves and humans, they don’t get together very often but when they do they don’t make kids. Same way an elephant and a tree frog can’t make kids. Get it?”

Sirius stared at him, mystified.

Wade sighed. “Look, you know what happens when you cross a horse and a donkey, don’t you?”

Sirius shrugged. “You get a mule.”

“That’s right, you get a mule,” said Wade. “A mule is like the best parts of both its parents. Strong like a horse, tough like a donkey, whatever you like. Little bit better than the sum of its parts, nothing major. Alright?”

Sirius nodded.

“Rane is like if you took a horse and a donkey and mixed them, but instead you got a unicorn,” said Wade carefully. “And that unicorn doesn’t know what the hell it’s doing here, and neither do its parents, and no one knows what it can do. Except it can do something. All we have to go on is a prophecy that was written years ago beyond count -”

“A prophecy?”

“Yes. It says that the child of a mortal and immortal is one of the _Ainur_ reborn, and that -”

“Mate, I don’t know what any of this means!” said Sirius in frustration, throwing up his hands. “What the bloody fuck is -?”

“Ainur are the primordial spirits that created the world,” said a voice behind them. Both Sirius and Wade spun around. Rane stood there, shutting the door gently behind her, her arms wrapped around her in the chill.

“I asked you to come here so we could tell you I was pregnant, not so you could lecture Sirius about Elven lore for forty-five minutes,” she went on chidingly, looking at Wade.

“Well, given recent developments, I think it’s best that he knows some of this stuff,” Wade replied defensively.

“What do these - these _Ay-noor_ have to do with this? What does this prophecy have to do with it?” Sirius asked.

“When the _Ainur_ is reborn in the form of a Peredhil, it heralds the last war, Dagor Dagorath, which is supposed to mean the end of the world, I think,” Rane rattled off, with the air of someone who’s done this ad nauseum in the past. “They were kindled with the flame of the Imperishable which means they could also do whatever they wanted and no one could stop them, not even their dumbass boss -”

 _“Iluvatar,”_ said Wade scathingly, looking at her as if she’d just uttered a reprehensible swear word. “Careful there, daughter mine -”

“Hey, as my forebears are so happy to remind me, I’m not an Elf,” Rane replied, placing her hand on her chest. “I can take the lord’s name in vain all I want.”

“The prophecy says that this half-Elf will bring about Dagor Dagorath and that will be the end of all of us,” Wade finished for her, looking at Sirius, “and that’ll be that. Then the Ainur can start all over again from scratch without all the bullshit.”

“That’s if you choose to believe any of this, by the way,” Rane added, lifting a finger.

Wade stared at her in outraged silence for a moment, his mouth hanging open.

“Girl, I’ve lived on this earth for sixty-five-hundred years,” he said. “Now you ought to think real, real hard about what you just said, take it from me -”

“Sixty-five-” Sirius’s mouth had dropped open. “Did you say _sixty-five-hundred bloody_ -?”

“Well, that’s fantastic, dad, but for the rest of us who might not get to live forever, we’d like to enjoy some semblance of a normal life!” Rane interrupted, staring at her father.

“You’re more than welcome to enjoy whatever you damn well please!” Wade retorted, his voice rising. “What you can’t do is sit there with your thumb stuck up your ass pretending there’s not something there! You see it, I see it, hell Dumbledore even saw it - you know, I didn’t even have to tell him about that damn prophecy, he already knew! He knew before he recruited you into the Order! Now what does _that_ tell you?”

“That Dumbledore did his homework,” said Rane softly, shrugging and looking at the ground.

"No, it tells you that he knows the risks, and he made sure he was aware of what your situation was before he approached you, Rane."

"Have you ever known Dumbledore to go into something blind?"

"You know exactly what I mean, girl. You know _exactly_ what I mean."

Rane fell silent, her head hanging, not looking at either of them.

“You can’t ignore this,” said Wade, shaking his head. “Rane, you can’t just go through life pretending it doesn’t exist. I get it, I really do - getting a job at the Ministry, becoming an Auror, buying that goddam apartment and staying away from everyone . . . I see what you’re doing here. I‘m not stupid. I know you want to be normal and do normal stuff. That‘s why I let you learn magic. But it doesn‘t change _what - you - are_.”

Rane didn’t look at him. She folded her arms, continuing to look at the ground.

“It’s . . . it’s something, what you can do,” Wade told her. “It’s big, and it’s gonna get bigger. And more dangerous. And man, I wish I could tell you what to do with it, as your father, but baby, I can’t. I really can’t. All I can tell you is that you _absolutely_ \- _have_ \- to _acknowledge_ it. Take cautionary steps with it. And this? This, with Sirius?”

He gestured with one hand vaguely in Sirius’s directions.

“I get it, I realize that you love him, and he loves you, but it changes in our situation! It changes when you’re an Elf, Rane! Because one day, Sirius is gonna be an old man, but you’ll still be just the same way, you’ll have all those years in front of you, and Sirius -!”

“That’s - dad, that’s not for sure, no one knows -”

“And now a kid?” Wade went on over her.

Rane said nothing for a long moment. Sirius looked between them, still quite bewildered; Wade, who was staring hard at his daughter, his brows knitted, and Rane, who was returning his gaze steadily. Her expression had cooled considerably into something almost like a glare.

A momentary silence passed between them.

“I won’t alter the course of my life for this,” said Rane very quietly. “I won’t.”

“I don’t think you have a choice,” said Wade quietly.

“I DO HAVE A CHOICE!” Rane suddenly shouted, pointing at him. “I’M NOT A SLAVE TO THIS ELF-CREED HORSESHIT -!”

“THIS IS BEYOND YOU!” Wade replied, his voice rising to a shout. “IT’S BEYOND ALL OF US! IT’S NOT GOING TO GO AWAY!”

“I WON’T - LET THIS - CONTROL - MY FUCKING - LIFE -!”

And suddenly Sirius had taken an involuntary step back from her, because for a moment her eyes had flashed bright, icy blue, and the shadows beneath them had lengthened as that ethereal glow had for a moment radiated out from her.

It was gone as quickly as it had come; the light faded, if it had been there at all, and Rane‘s eyes were once again hazel. Rane blinked, as if she’d just realized she had committed some appalling gaffe in company, and took a step backwards, averting her eyes.

“You see?” said Wade, though his voice had lost its ardor. “You see there?”

A moment of thick silence fell between them. Rane turned her eyes quickly to Sirius, then returned her gaze to the ground, her face pale.

“And what‘s more,” said Wade slowly, “everyone knows that you can have a mule from a horse and a donkey, but you can’t have a baby mule.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Rane sharply.

“You’re trying to say you don’t know what this baby is going to be,” said Sirius, suddenly understanding. “You don’t know if it’ll be like Rane or -”

“Or something else entirely,” said Wade, nodding.

The three of them said nothing for a moment.

“Dad, that‘s enough,” Rane said quietly. “This baby is coming now, regardless of any of this shit. So until we find out what actually goes down, we’re going to just . . . Just keep doing what we’re doing. I love Sirius.”

She reached out and took Sirius’s hand, squeezing it gently.

“Things are alright, right now,” she said quietly. “When they stop being alright, we can freak out some more. Until then I’m gonna enjoy this and chill out on the whole bullshit thing. ‘Kay?”

Wade sighed deeply, placed his hands on his hips, then folded his arms, shaking his head.

“I love you, girl,” he said simply at length. He spread his hands. “That’s all I can do. I said my piece.”

He and Rane eyed one another for a long moment, then he turned and walked past them. He paused sliding the door opened, turned, and stuck out his hand towards Sirius.

“Congratulations, Sirius,” he said. His voice had picked up its old, genial lilt again. Sirius reached out and shook it with both of his own.

“Thanks, mate,” he said. He couldn't quite bring himself to smile.

Wade glanced at the two of them once more, then vanished into the house, shutting the door behind him with a soft snick.

Rane sank down into a chair and buried her hands in her face at once. Sirius sat down at her side as well, looking over at her, his brow furrowed. He reached out and touched her shoulder gently.

“We have to go to the Elves,” she said quietly, looking up at him.

“The Elves? Me? Us?” Sirius gave her an alarmed look. “Blimey, what for?”

“Because dad’s right, this kid is part Elf,” said Rane, shaking her head. “They have to know. They’ll . . . They’ll know what to do.”

“What to do?” Sirius’s voice suddenly became loud. “Rane, this is a load of rubbish! Why are we relying on these people for advice on what to do anyways? We know what to do! We’re going to have this bloody child! And shit on whoever doesn’t like it!”

Rane snorted, shaking her head. “Sirius, they have to know. They . . . I can’t explain it. They have to.”

Sirius looked at her in utter frustration for a moment longer. The entire evening had gone not at all like he’d hoped, and now he was more confused than he’d ever been before. He had not foreseen any of what Wade had brought up - this prophecy, all this rubbish about mules and unicorns - and what had been an almost ravaging excitement had now been dulled into what was almost dread. What did this all mean?

“I dunno about any of this,” said Sirius in a low voice. “I just . . . I love you.”

“We’ll have to go soon,” said Rane softly, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Will you come with me? After Harry and the rest of them visit this weekend?”

As Sirius shrugged and nodded, Wade was staring out of the window of the kitchen, a firewhiskey in one hand, listening to the dry tones of their voices with perfect clarity intermixed with the chirruping of the crickets. He had never felt older, or weaker, or less able to protect his kin.


	15. The Small Council Scuppered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane, Sirius and Wade ride to the council at Ylle Thalas to bring tidings of Rane's impending child.

Sirius Black was staring at the massive white horse before him with a wary trepidation that was almost dread. He had never been this close to a proper Elven horse, though Hogwarts had given him an ample analysis on the mighty creatures; they were legendary for their cleverness, their speed, their long lifespan and their beauty, but he didn’t remember reading anything about their sheer size. This beast was more colossal than he would ever have suspected, with its rippling haunches and the gleaming sheet of its mane hanging over its strapping, arched neck. Sirius’s forehead didn’t even clear its withers, and he considered his six-foot-one liberal in the worst of circumstances. Buckbeak was nowhere near as immense or intimidating, even with the claws.

Wade Roth, who was pulling the creaking leather harness on his own horse taut a few yards away, was peering askance at him with a bemused expression on his face.

“He won’t bite you, pard,” he said, smirking.

Sirius glanced sidelong at Wade, his brow furrowed. He had not even considered the possibility of being bitten yet.

“Actually I was thinking of the hooves,” he said nervously.

Rane Roth was already astride a lean black mare nearby, her long hair wavering gently in the breeze, her cheeks flushed with cold. She slipped one long leg over the saddle and slipped lightly off, landing with a flump. The woods outside of Ylle Thalas, which none of them had seen since the eventful evening they’d spent with the Death Eaters, was covered in a heavy glaze of snow now, glittering benignly in the afternoon sunlight; it covered the hanging branches overhead and was splattered unceremoniously on the thick, pillar-like trunks that surrounded them like a biological pantheon. The silence around them, which Sirius had found unnervingly complete the last time he’d been here, was broken only by the mild snorting and stamping of their steeds. No birdsong could be heard around them, nor the hum of insects, the scampering of creatures in the undergrowth, or even the whistling breeze through the boughs. The periphery of Ylle Thalas seemed to command the quiet in the same way a holy place would. The horses had been provided by Wade, who had insisted upon their use when Rane and Sirius had asked for his company during their trek to Ylle Thalas to inform the small council of Rane’s pregnancy. Neither Sirius nor Rane had the slightest idea how he’d managed to get all three of them to the mouth of the forest, where he had been awaiting their arrival that afternoon, and both were far too distracted to ask.

“Here, let me see,” said Rane, striding towards Sirius. She gripped the dangling bridle of the horse, who gazed mildly at her from beneath long lashes, and pulled it gently towards her, clicking her tongue. The stallion clopped forward a step obediently, tail swishing (Sirius recoiled slightly from those massive hooves), and Rane ducked beneath his great head, adjusting the saddle with the brisk dexterity of someone who has completed this task so many times it has become practically mundane.

“Can’t we just - just use magic, like last time?” said Sirius, glancing over his shoulder at Wade, who was presently climbing into his own saddle.

“I told you, we need to make a good impression,” said Wade, shaking his head. “The Elves hate magic, they think it’s . . . Ehh, how to put it . . .”

“Pretentious,” Rane supplied, slightly muffled from where she was crouched beneath Sirius’s stallion, buckling the saddle strap.

“Yep,” said Wade at once, nodding. “It‘s gotta be horseback. We can’t be Disapparating hither and yon in front of the small council. Rane and Mad-Eye being hurt was one thing . . . This is something else. Gotta have our game faces on.”

Sirius sighed deeply. Rane at last straightened, stood before him for a minute, then brushed his hair out of his face, smiling. He returned it, helpless not to in spite of himself.

“You’ll be fine, it’s stupid easy,” she said, drawing near to him. “If you can ride Buckbeak, you can ride a horse.”

Her hand stole out and snared his. He squeezed it gratefully, looking into her eyes, musing to himself for perhaps the thousandth time that he didn’t think she could possibly be more beautiful, with the late afternoon light riding on her forehead and her dark brows drawn together in her characteristic expression of affectionate amusement. She leaned forward and kissed him, biting his lower lip gently as she drew away, then slapped the stallion’s withers heartily. The horse remained patiently still, one ear swiveling wryly backwards.

“Get your sexy little ass up there,” she said, stroking the stallion’s nose and peering around at Sirius, grinning. “He‘ll hold still.”

“Up you get,” Wade agreed from where he sat astride his horse, sounding mildly impatient.

Silently vowing not to make a fool of himself in front of Rane, Sirius swung one leg up into the stirrup, and laboriously clambered over the stallion’s broad back. For a moment things seemed to be going swimmingly, but then his boot failed him and slipped from the foothold, leaving him wriggling inelegantly belly-down on the saddle, his brows contracted with effort, all four appendages scrabbling wildly for purchase. From behind him, Rane placed both her hands on his ass and shoved hard, laughing, her boots digging into the snow, and in the next moment Sirius was at last scrambling gracelessly into the saddle. For a short, alarming moment he was certain he was about to slide right off the other side; he snatched the bridle into both fists, his knees squeezing the stallion’s muscular sides with panicky tightness.

“You good?” Rane asked, blinking up at him in the sunlight, grinning.

Sirius looked down at her, as unpleasantly surprised by the alarming altitude as he was by the unmistakable power of the creature between his legs. He could feel the stallion’s robust breathing, could hear the snuffling blow of his nostrils emitting puffs of white steam into the cool air. He had no idea how fast this thing could go, but he felt more alarmed by the potential now than he ever had on his motorcycle.

“Right - right, I’m fine,” he said gruffly, clearing his throat. He realized abruptly that he was huddled over the horse’s neck, gripping handfuls of mane for dear life, and quickly sat upright.

“Sorry I grabbed your ass, couldn’t help it,” Rane added in a low voice, winking lecherously at him. He snorted.

“Not in front of your father, please!” Wade called loftily, looking pointedly in the other direction.

Rane turned in a whirl of hair and was on her mare in an instant, wheeling her about with a nimbleness that Sirius envied. He examined the reigns uncertainly, as if searching for instructions.

“How do you - er - make them -?”

“Oh shit, I forgot,” said Rane, glancing at her father abruptly. “Can he -?”

“’Course he can,” said Wade. He sounded very impatient now. “Hurry up and tell him so we can get going, if we’re late they’ll never shut up about it -”

“Stop is dár, go is _glenn’horth,”_ said Rane quickly.

Sirius nodded, but Rane wasn’t satisfied.

“Let me hear you say it.”

“Dare. Gwen-hearth.”

“ _Dár,_ ” Rane enunciated, rolling her tongue, “and _glenn’horth.”_

Sirius cleared his throat. “ _Dár. Glenn’horth._ ”

Rane made a face, then shrugged. “Good enough. Let’s go.”

She and Wade rounded their horses around. Sirius yanked on the reigns of his own uncertainly; the stallion, however, seemed to intuit his wishes without needing further instruction, and went striding off after Sirius’s companions with good grace, his hooves clopping in the snow.

 _“Glenn’horth,”_ Sirius muttered appraisingly, more musing to himself than anything; he had never uttered an Elvish word before and in spite of his awkward elocution he rather liked the silky, ethereal feel of the word in his mouth. _“Glenn’h_ -”

He cried out in surprise; the stallion had suddenly burst into a swift gallop in the space of a heartbeat, his hooves flying beneath them. He huddled against the flying mane in front of him, shutting his eyes against the sudden, violent wind that was whipping against his face, anticipating the world turning in pinwheels any second as he flew out of the saddle and hit the ground. He decided almost at once that he didn’t much care for horseback; Hippogriffs were far easier. Magic was even better still.

“Open your eyes so you can drive!” Rane called from his left, her voice lost in the thunder of hooves. Sirius did, his knuckles white against the bridle, his jaw clenched in alarm. Rane was galloping alongside him, her mare adeptly dodging trees; her face was full of laughter, the hair flying back from her temples in a rippling sheet. “You’re okay, babe, just watch out for branches! And quit hugging his neck!”

Sirius straightened, every muscle in his body contracted in panic, his heart pounding, switching his eyes from the forest before them to Rane, who was clearly enjoying herself entirely.

Beyond them, slipping swiftly through the woods with sod flying in clumps behind him, Wade was bent over his own horse, looking over at Sirius with a lopsided grin on his face.

“How do I make it stop again?!” Sirius bellowed, his eyes as wide as quarters.

“Quit being a wuss!” Rane shouted back cheerfully. “Didn’t you have a flying motorcycle?”

Rane kicked at her mare, and they galloped on even faster, the snow flying in a spray behind them. Sirius watched her go, feeling a surge of admiration for her. He squeezed the stallion’s heaving sides tentatively with his knees, and at once they sped up, the ringing thuds of hoof beats beneath them rising to a blurring tempo.

“My motorcycle was loads better than this!” Sirius hollered at Rane, but now he was grinning, and she returned his smile brightly, laughing. He thought often of those moments later, watching her at his side astride that black mare, looking very young, very lovely, very vital, and when these memories would surface, he would inevitably enjoy a sense of soaring pride, of heartrending love, that made everything around him pale in comparison.

The three of them thundered through the forest, leaving pine needles whistling down behind them beneath the setting sun, racing their long shadows in the snow.

SIRIUS had mostly gotten the hang of riding a horse by the time they reached the gates of Ylle Thalas some half an hour later (or so he told Remus and Tonks later, anyways). They trotted into the clearing, the city looming before them, its ethereal fairy lights glowing like indigo fireflies in the growing gloom. The horses that stood in the undulating grass plain that stretched out before them all raised their heads, their ears pricked, watching the strangers’ advent with placid curiosity.

Wade dismounted in a single smooth motion - Sirius was stricken forcibly again by the fact that he was of Elfkind, however human he sometimes seemed - and slapped his horse’s hindquarters amiably. The horse trotted off into the fields, whickering.

“Think you can get down?” Rane asked Sirius, sliding off her own steed.

Sirius, who had become rather confident in his riding abilities over the past half hour, chose to find out firsthand. He slung a leg over the edge of the saddle, then, glancing behind him at the seven foot drop to the snowy ground, realized he wasn’t entirely certain how to complete this task now that it had been begun. In the end he tried to simply propel himself away from the stallion with his free foot, but the one still hung in its stirrup caught at the crucial moment and he ended up spread-eagled and graceless in the snow. Rane’s pretty face loomed over him, looking amused.

“You okay?” she said, offering him a hand up.

He took it, rubbing the small of his back and looking at her ruefully. “Fine, fine, yeah . . .”

Rane gave his stallion a good smack and he cantered off to join his comrades, his tail held high like a banner.

“It takes practice, you know,” said Wade bracingly, clapping Sirius on the shoulder as he walked up to join them. “Riding, I mean. Took me years, never came naturally. And Rane here about broke her neck more times than I care to admit.”

“I used to sneak out and ride at night,” Rane told Sirius in a conspiratorial whisper. “Dad used to get pissed because the Death Eaters were after him, but at least I got some practice in . . .”

“And you wonder why I’m going gray,” said Wade mournfully (Sirius was comfortably certain that he had more gray in his five o’clock shadow than Wade, who was several centuries his senior and looked not a day over forty, had on his whole body). “Come on, let’s get in there and get this over with . . .”

They strode off side by side through the field, the long grass parting gently as they passed. Overhead, the sky was shot through with brilliant pink and indigo as the sun finally set; the red globe of it was hanging portentously behind Ylle Thalas itself, casting its curious crimson glow across the lovely wood, which was now in the full swing of winter. Ravens were lifting off from the spires, cawing raucously to one another in the ringing stillness.

Rane didn’t remember the two guards that they met at the entry, because when she’d last had occasion to visit Ylle Thalas she had been quite entirely unconscious; Sirius, however, did.

He stood with one arm on the small of Rane’s back, looking between them with barely concealed dislike.

 _“Quel’undom,”_ said Wade, bowing slightly. “If it’s just as well I’ve got a council to attend with my daughter and her - erm -”

He cut his eyes briefly back towards Rane and Sirius. Rane rolled her eyes. She lifted her voice, addressing the Elven sentries.

“ _Y sustos eloisse melya_ ,” she said. Sirius had never heard her speak Elvish before, apart from the two commands he had learned earlier that evening; it was beautiful, sleek, seeming to hang in the air like hot breath in the cold, misty and ethereal. “ _Loiresse undonai’ella_.”

At this last bit, Wade snatched a look backwards at her, looking rather taken aback. Rane, however, wasn’t looking at him; she kept her eyes on the sentries.

The one on the left stepped forward, removing his helmet in one swift motion and revealing the face of a young man with the same long, blond hair that Wade possessed. He was strong-jawed, hard-eyed and preternaturally handsome. He was looking at Rane, shaking his head gently, looking supremely disdainful.

“You dishonor your people, Peredhil,” he said in a hard voice. He gestured with one arm towards Sirius without looking at him. “You take this - this _pê-channas_ for your mate-?!”

“Don’t call him that,” said Rane sharply.

“Do you not see the doom of your father?” the sentry went on, glaring at her. His counterpart remained stationary at the gate, his helmet still firmly on, sword at the ready and quite silent.

“Do you not bear witness to his climb back up the slopes of our reverence, after all these long years of disgrace?”

Rane spat on the ground. Sirius and Wade both looked at her in utter astonishment.

“ _Dol-gïn lôst,_ ” she said in a very low voice. “My father isn’t a disgrace, and neither am I. Now get out of my road, _tovon-tiri.”_

Wade and Sirius were both looking at her in silent surprise. Rane and the sentry continued to glare at one another, motionless, the air around them veritably crackling with their mutual dislike.

“You think that your beauty gives you passage in our lands, _Peredhil,_ that we will forget your spoiled blood when we look upon your face, but you do not belong amongst us,” said the sentry at last, the corners of his mouth drawn in an ugly sneer. “Perhaps it befits you to take this mortal for your own.”

“Well it beats the hell out of being married off to one of you arrogant fucks,” said Rane insolently.

The sentry flushed at once, looking affronted; he seemed almost to want to dart forward and strike her, but the other sentry placed a hand on his shoulder, the chain mail beneath his armor rattling ominously.

“You may pass, _Varilterende,”_ he said. His helmet rotated slightly toward his red-faced comrade, radiating obvious disapproval. “Forgive Eluthias. He is young.”

“Not at all,” said Wade, but Sirius thought he sounded notably quieter as they plodded past the two guards. The one who’d removed his helmet - Eluthias - watched Rane’s progress with clear hostility, his eyes narrowed.

“Not very friendly today, are they?” said Sirius, trying to sound light.

Wade heaved a sigh and said nothing, frowning as they strode through the stone-flagged city.

“What was it you said to them?” Sirius asked Rane.

Rane looked alongside at him quickly, a curious expression on her face. “I told them you were my boyfriend,” she said.

“That’s not what I heard,” said Wade.

Rane sighed. “Okay, I told them you were my . . . My fiancé, I guess.”

“Your . . .” Sirius trailed off, finding himself quite unable to enunciate this word aloud, for some reason. He felt a peculiar, not entirely unpleasant fluttering sensation in his stomach. Rane pressed on hastily.

“Well - well, there’s no word for boyfriend in Elvish, really, it just translates as someday-husband sort of, or forever-love, and, well, I could hardly - I mean, you’re not, I know, of course you’re not . . . I just wasn’t sure . . .” Rane trailed off, looking ungainly, her cheeks pink. “Anyways.”

“Anyways indeed,” Wade agreed, tipping a wink at Sirius, who was still quite tongue-tied.

“Anyways, then they called you a . . .” Rane looked at Sirius quickly, suddenly diffident. “Well . . . Well, not a very nice -”

“A shithead,” said Wade, low. “That’s what he said. No point dressing it up.”

Sirius recoiled a little, stung.

Rane was looking at him anxiously. “He was just being a prick, Sirius -”

“Blimey,” said Sirius, rubbing his stubbly chin. “Bit harsh.”

“Then I told him he was an idiot,” said Rane.

“Paraphrased,” said Wade, though he was smirking. “Generously.”

“Anyways, just . . .” Rane reached out and took Sirius’s hand, looking at him desperately. “Don’t judge the rest of them based on those two assholes, okay?”

“But don’t expect the rest of them to be any nicer,” Wade added quickly.

Sirius stared around him at the vine-encrusted pillars of stone, feeling quite unwelcome in this strange place. He squeezed Rane’s hand a little tighter, grateful for her presence.

THE small council was already assembled when they arrived at the broad, circular room where the Elves gathered for such occasions. It was rather lovely, really; the pillars surrounding them opened on the wide winter sky, dark with the falling night and studded with bright stars. Sconces, alight with bright flickering flames, hung at each joiner, and the ceiling wasn’t stone but the twisted, ancient limb of a tree, thicker than a semi-truck through the middle, providing more than ample shelter. Branches bifurcated away from the sinuous mass, leafless now so late in the season. Sirius saw tiny, barely perceptible shoots on the ends of some of them, though, heralding the beginning what would be, unbeknownst to him, the final Spring in his short, strange life.

“It’s older than me, if you can believe that,” said Wade, startling Sirius from his reverie. “The tree, I mean. Been here since I was still in clouts, as a matter of fact, and it was pretty old even then. Probably it‘ll be here long after both of us are gone, too.”

Rane, who was standing with her back to them both, pulling off her cloak, her long legs staggered pertly, seemed immune to the loveliness of the chamber; perhaps she had simply seen it too many times before. There were Elves gathered in a cluster in the room - Sirius did a quick head count, mouthing silently, and decided their number to be around ten - speaking to one another in low voices. Most of them were male, with the trademark long blond hair and striking features of the Ylle Thalas Elves, clad in chain mail and longswords that hung glittering ominously at their belts. Iliwynn, her lovely face immediately evident in the knot of strangers, lifted a hand at their advent, smiling brilliantly.

“A star shines on our meeting, _Varilterende,”_ she said, drawing near to them. “Sirius, Rane - welcome, once more, to Ylle Thalas.”

Sirius returned her smile in earnest; it was difficult not to, so clearly genuine was her pleasure.

“Everyone here?” Wade asked her, slipping off his own cloak and stomping the snow from the soles of his boots. “I’d prefer not to keep these two out too terribly late, given all the fun we had last time we dropped in . . .”

“They are prepared, I believe, to begin,” Iliwynn replied. She cast a rather dubious glance backwards at her companions, who had begun to disperse, claiming stone seats and looking decidedly grim.

“What’s the climate like here?” Wade asked Iliwynn very quietly, looking around.

“I’m afraid it’s not good,” Iliwynn replied, matching his tone.

“Not good, why?” Rane asked, leaning towards Iliwynn, her brow furrowed.

Iliwynn cast her a wry look. “Daughter mine, know you well the ways of the Elves,” she said, smirking. “Wise, mayhap, but querulous, and too shrewd for their own good, I think.”

"Shit,” said Rane, her face falling.

“Peace you,” said Iliwynn, placing a hang on Rane’s cheek reassuringly. “Come.”

She turned, ascending to her seat at the front of the chamber. Rane, Wade and Sirius took seats near the entryway; Sirius, feeling very self-conscious, smoothed his long hair away from his face, glancing around at all the decidedly unfriendly faces that were eyeing him.

“Friends, let us begin,” said Iliwynn stridently, and a hush fell across the room, broken only by the whistle of the wind outside. She gazed around at the silent council for a moment, the wind blowing tendrils of hair across her fantastically lovely face, and then spoke in her slow, husky voice.

“Friends old and new, we are well met on this day,” she said. “You have my gratitude. Long have been the days of toil in light of the coming war, and this evening we give thanks to Eru Iluvatar for delivering us safely to this time of toil’s respite.”

A murmured acknowledgement greeted these words, a phrase with an oddly talismanic quality - something like san’na. Sirius reminded himself to ask Rane what it meant later.

“We have not gathered here to praise our maker, Iliwynn, deserving though He may be,” one of the Elves said, sounding impatient.

“No, indeed,” Iliwynn agreed, quite unruffled.

“My lady, who is this mortal that sits amongst us?” another Elf asked.

Sirius looked around for the source of this voice. This Elf was sitting slouched in his chair, his chin resting on his fist, staring at Sirius unblinkingly from beneath dark brows with eyes so bright blue they seemed to gleam like flint. He was extraordinarily handsome, almost difficult to look at, and he was the only Elf there who wasn’t blond, Sirius noticed. His hair was long, straight, and as inky black as Sirius’s own.

“Is this a friend to Dumbledore?” the Elf went on, eyeing Sirius calculatingly. “Since when have we allayed our laws to admit any Man who wishes to gain entry?”

“This is Sirius Black,” said Iliwynn. “He fights Voldemort alongside Varilterende and Rane. He is a friend to us, and welcome here, Lordran,” she added.

Lordran shifted his weight, still staring at Sirius, who felt suddenly, unpleasantly transparent beneath his gaze.

“And what of him?” an Elf asked to their left. “We sanction no human to our council, Iliwynn. What is the meaning of this?”

Iliwynn looked around at the council, took a slow breath, and then turned her eyes to Wade, who was looking at his hands, his expression unreadable.

“Our guests bring with them good tidings in these dark times,” said Iliwynn. She took a quick breath, as if to steady herself. “Rane Roth is with child.”

A jostling mutter arose at this pronouncement; the Elves looked from Rane to Iliwynn, clearly bewildered. Lordran, however, had gotten to his feet and stood now at his full, considerable height, staring at Rane with something akin to outrage.

“With child,” he repeated, his voice strident. His mouth was turned down in a moue of ire. “You are with _child.”_

Rane returned his gaze steadily, her lips thin.

“This is _insulting,_ Iliwynn,” Lordran said, turning the word into something almost like a sneer. “Have you brought me here only to insult me before my kinsmen?”

“Sit down, Lordran,” said Wade.

“She is with child by this _pê-channas,_ is she not?” Lordran went on, his voice rising.

His pale face was slightly flushed. He turned his bright eyes to Wade, who was watching him warily. Sirius saw with a twist of unease that his hand had gone to the hilt of his sword.

“Sit down,” Wade repeated. “ _Havo dahd_.”

Lordran stood where he was a moment longer, then sank back into his chair, where he glared with something like genuine hate at Sirius and Rane. Sirius, bewildered, glanced sidelong at Rane, but she wasn’t looking at him; her eyes were smartly fixed on Iliwynn. Wade’s fingers loosened around his sword at last.

“Is it true, Rane?” one of the Elves asked her. “You have lain with this mortal?”

Rane’s face reddened slightly, but she held the Elf’s gaze steadily.

“It’s true,” she said simply.

A ringing silence fell at this. An owl hooted somewhere in the forest below them.

“What child is this, then?” someone said uneasily. “A second Peredhil?”

“No,” said Iliwynn at once, shaking her head. “There is only one Peredhil, and she sits amongst us this night. I know not what this child will be, whether mortal or immortal or something more or less. But Elven blood will run through its veins, and so it shall be one of us in whatever endeavors.”

 _“Nalle’dir,_ Rane!” one of the Elves said to Rane in a tone of perfect consternation. Rane looked at her hands at once, pursing her lips, saying nothing.

“No,” said Wade, looking at the Elf, his eyes hard. “There’s no shame in this. She loves this man, just like I loved her mother.”

“And to what ends?” said an Elf, dismayed.

“To whatever ends may be,” said Wade, unflinching.

“We came for your blessing,” said Rane, looking around at them all. “Will you give it to us?”

The council stared back at her silently. She glanced from face to face, her brows drawn together.

“None of you,” she said very quietly.

“We cannot condone such a thing,” said an Elf, sounding haughty. “We cannot condone the tainting of our bloodline, for we are an ancient people.”

“You have my blessing, child,” said Iliwynn. She was looking between Sirius and Rane, but her face was long with sorrow. “If you shall have none other’s.”

“How can you give it so?” Lordran burst out, gesturing towards Rane. “She has betrayed us, just as her father did! And yet there you sit, Iliwynn!”

Iliwynn sat in silence, her hands clasped in her lap, listening to Lordran expressionlessly. Rane was watching him as well, her hands balled into fists on the arms of her chair.

“She has defiled my house!” Lordran spat. “I was promised!”

“Promised what?” Sirius asked, speaking at last.

He was looking at Lordran, his eyes narrowed. It had come to him in a rush of sudden, unpleasant understanding that the reason why this Elf was so pissed off that Rane had shown up in Ylle Thalas with a human at her side perhaps went a bit deeper than simple hauteur.

Lordran returned his gaze angrily, his teeth glinting behind his lips.

“Promised what?” Sirius repeated. His heart was beating quickly. “Go on, mate.”


	16. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane, Wade and Sirius return from the small council; the celebration at Grimmauld Place gets off to a strange start.

An hour later found Rane, Wade and Sirius pulling on their cloaks and readying themselves morosely for the journey home. None of them looked particularly pleased with the night’s work; indeed, they all looked bleak and foreboding. Even Wade, whose jolly good cheer could be positively obnoxious at times, was glaring sullenly off into the distance, thin-lipped, his jaw tight. Someone - a guard, perhaps - had been courteous enough to tack their three mounts and leave them tethered by the gates, where they were nibbling at the tall grass placidly, tails flicking, but Wade had made it quite plain that he meant for them to use magic when they left for Grimmauld Place. The time to avoid leaving a bad impression on the small council seemed to have come and gone.

The meeting had not gone well, not even by Sirius’s wooly standards. Iliwynn seemed alone in her espousal for the unborn child; of the dozen or so Elves that met with them that evening, only she had been prepared to extend her blessing. The rest of the small council had categorically refused, many of them going so far as to denounce the whole affair. A few of them had been angry, in fact; though they frequently lapsed into Sindarin in their passion, the words Sirius had been able to understand were undeniably cruel and almost universally directed at Rane Foolish… brainless… rash… soiled… and twice, a fantastically ugly word that sounded like _sang’wumei_ which Rane recoiled from as if slapped, clearly stung. Sirius felt sure that it meant something very akin to whore.

The gist of their reaction was simply this: Sirius was mortal and Rane potentially was not, and the venerated Sindarin bloodline had already been despoiled by Wade once before. The idea of yet another child like Rane, of a quarter-elf, of a further dilution of the immortal ancestry of its forbears, was a profane and sacrilegious one as far as the small council was concerned. It was during the shouting match that at last erupted between Lordran and Sirius that Wade pointedly announced it was high time for them to be getting back to headquarters.

“You could have told me about him,” Sirius presently said in a low voice, buckling his boots tightly around the cuffs of his trousers.

Rane was buttoning her cloak, staring off into the forest, her expression quite aloof. The wind that swept around them, rippling the tall grass into elegant waves, was bitterly cold.

Sirius, looking askance at her with an annoyed expression, was not about to be snubbed so easily after the night’s events. He could not recall ever being angrier at Rane in all the long months they’d known one another. After an evening spent rebutting insults hurled in mixed Sindarin and English by the Elf she was meant to marry, he was feeling decidedly less magnanimous regarding the Elven aspect of her heritage. These people seemed cruel and unpleasant towards mortal men as a general rule, with a few notable exceptions, and he was absolutely at his threshold. Sirius had spent two years on the run from society and thirteen in a prison; he was not about to be belittled by a couple of Elves with a chip on their shoulders.

“You could have told me.”

“Why would I have done that?” asked Rane edgily.

“Why would you have mentioned that you were engaged to another bloke, you mean?” said Sirius. His temper was brimming just below the surface, fickle as boiling water. “I dunno, is that not something most girls do?”

“We weren’t _engaged,_ we were _betrothed,”_ Rane remarked, sounding supremely jaded. “And I dissolved it as soon as I was of age. Hardly even know the guy.”

“Hardly know him?” Sirius scoffed, casting her a skeptical glance. “Hardly know him, eh? He seemed to know you well enough to be quite annoyed about me, didn’t he?”

“Sirius, that’s enough,” said Rane, not looking at him.

Sirius straightened, opening his mouth, but Wade grasped his bicep roughly, giving him a warning glance. Sirius abated begrudgingly, glaring sullenly at Rane’s profile, feeling a combination of resentment and a rather small-minded covetousness that he had never experienced before with her.

Wade held out his forearm, his wand held aloft in his other hand, looking entirely fed up with both of their shenanigans. “Let’s get out of here.”

Rane and Sirius gripped his forearm tightly. Rane cast a final, wistful look around them at the shadowy, ancient pillars of Ylle Thalas, marking its shimmering peaks, the vines creeping up the white pillars; she had always loved this city, even in her childhood. To be spurned so by it was like being suddenly bitten by a trusted family pet. 

Wade lifted his wand, and Ylle Thalas vanished in a shearing ripple of light, replaced in the space of a second by the grimy gray interior of Grimmauld Place. It seemed more dour than ever after the graceful arches of Ylle Thalas; worse, after being outside in the clear winter atmosphere for so long, the air seemed close and stale. It smelled like dust and mildew, and the light was unpleasantly low and yellow.

Remus was in the kitchen, gathering a roll of parchment up. At the sound of Wade, Rane and Sirius Apparating in the living room, he turned his head.

“Evening,” he said pleasantly. “How’d the council go?”

“It was a piece of shit,” said Rane moodily. “They spent half the time calling me names and the rest of it reminding dad how much he sucks at being an Elf.”

Remus frowned. “Oh, dear.”

“Yeah, couldn’t have gone worse if we’d pulled down our pants and shown them all three of our asses,” Wade agreed, pulling his cloak off. “Might’ve lightened the mood, as a matter of fact.”

“So . . . I take it they disapproved of the baby,” said Remus dourly, folding his arms.

“Everyone except Iliwynn,” said Sirius glumly.

“I knew they would,” said Rane. “They’ve got their heads crammed so far up Iluvatar’s sacred goddam _asshole_ -”

“Hey, hey now!”

“- that they can probably taste what He had for _breakfast_ this morning -”

“Rane!”

“- so you can bet your ass they aren’t happy that there’s going to be a quarter-Elf running around in a few months,” Rane finished defiantly, ignoring Wade.

Remus looked as if he didn‘t know whether to be amused or concerned.

“How did they react to Sirius?”

“Hard to tell,” said Sirius grumpily, “they spent most of the night pretending I didn’t exist. Except for Rane’s ex-boyfriend, that is, he took plenty of time to carp on at me -”

“Sirius, for the _love_ of -” Rane threw her arms up. “He’s not my ex-boyfriend!”

“Oh, right, sorry, _ex-fiancé_ -!”

“WE WERE BETROTHED!” Rane shouted, her face reddening.

“BETROTHED, ENGAGED, SAME BLOODY THING!” Sirius shouted back “HE WAS IN QUITE A STATE OVER YOU MEETING ME, WASN’T HE, FOR SOMEONE YOU ‘HARDLY KNOW?’”

Rane gave an inarticulate, high-pitched cry of frustration, and turning on her heel she vanished from the livingroom in a whirl of dark hair without another word. A moment later the veranda door slammed shut loudly, and they all heard the unmistakable sound of her cursing vehemently in a low voice and kicking one of the steel chairs sitting outside, sending it skittering across the pavement.

“Ex-boyfriend?” said Remus, looking at Sirius quizzically.

“Yes!” Sirius snapped, rounding on him. “Some bloody Elf at the council!”

“Look, they were never an item,” Wade said, sitting heavily on the sofa and stretching his legs out in front of him. He looked weary and not very well.

Sirius scoffed.

“Really, they weren’t,” said Wade. “Rane and Lordran met when she was like sixteen, it was Lordran’s mom that decided they should be married off one day. I don’t think she thought much of him even back then.”

“He certainly seemed to like her alright -!”

“Well, of course he does,” said Wade, rubbing his face. “She’s a pretty girl, Sirius, you’re not the only one that’s noticed it.”

“Rane was betrothed to an Elf?” said Remus.

“It’s customary,” said Wade. “I’m what you call a _maethor,_ a general, kind of. Our kids are supposed to be married off to highborn Sindarin. Lordran’s parents are highborn, it just happened to work out that way. Right age, after a fashion."

“So, what happened?” Remus asked, taking a seat beside Wade. “Why didn’t she marry him?”

“Yes, why?” Sirius agreed waspishly.

Wade shrugged. “When she came of age, she dissolved the betrothal. Just told the council she wasn’t going to honor it. Lordran’s mom wasn’t happy about it, but that’s Rane’s right, she didn‘t want to marry the dude. Then she went off and started training to become an Auror. Scrapped the whole thing, pretty much.”

Sirius wilted slightly at this. “So she just called it off?”

Wade lifted his eyebrows at Sirius. “You met him, didn’t you? Did he seem like the ball and chain sort to you?”

‘But . . .” Sirius blinked, feeling abruptly quite stupid. “But you can’t just - just decide not to go through with a betrothal, can you?”

“Are we talking about feudalism now?” said Wade, raising his eyebrows. “Do you understand what a betrothal _is_ , Sirius?”

“Well, I fancied I did, yeah,” Sirius replied haltingly. In truth, he had only a nodding acquaintance with the idea of it from his own coming of age and the tendency for pureblood wizarding families to intermarry in order to keep their lineages uncontaminated. His own family had given him up as a bad job quite early on, when it became clear that he didn’t exactly see eye to eye with them on certain crucial matters.

“Rane’s a grown-ass woman, she can do whatever she wants,” said Wade simply. “An Elven betrothal is more a social commitment than a sacred oath. You don’t have to sign a waiver or anything, just expect to get some nasty looks if you back out at the end.”

A brief silence fell, in which Sirius was acutely aware of the fact that he had just acted like a bit of a prick.

"So I gather that Sirius was less than cordial," said Remus wryly, lifting his eyebrows at Sirius. Sirius scoffed.

"He wasn't exactly cordial, himself . . ."

“He's right, it wasn’t just Sirius,” said Wade, waving a hand. “Lordran was bang out of line. He never could keep his mouth shut to save his life, even when he was young. He’s not keen on the idea of Rane hooking up with some wizard. None of them are. The kid is a big part of it, but . . . Man, they’ve never been wild about seeing Elves mingling with humans.”

“I thought _my_ family were mad on pureblood,” Sirius grumbled.

“Well, your family _was_ mad on it,” Wade agreed, getting up. “They were mad about a lot of stuff. You know, your mom shaded me once at a hearing, in front of the whole Wizengamot. Said the whole room smelled like horse droppings and that there must be an Elf nearby.”

Sirius snorted. “I don’t doubt it.”

“I’m off to bed,” said Wade. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione and the Weasleys would be arriving the following morning; in all the tumult, Sirius had nearly forgotten.

“Do you reckon Rane‘s angry?” Remus asked.

The three of them peered off towards the veranda, where Rane’s pert form could be seen outside sitting in a huddle, staring off across the grounds, the evening glow igniting the edges of her.

“Your job now, Sirius,” said Wade, clapping him on the shoulder genially. “I’m passing the mantle. Enjoy yourself.”

He strode off without another word, climbing the staircase. Remus and Sirius watched his ascent.

“Weird bloke, isn’t he?” said Sirius musingly.

“Very weird,” Remus agreed. “Suppose it shouldn’t come as any surprise.”

“Reckon I should go talk to her?” said Sirius.

Remus shook his head. “Nah.”

“No?”

“No,” Remus agreed. “Leave her be. She’ll come round. Tomorrow will cheer her up right.”

Sirius sighed. “Harry’s going to have kittens when he finds out, eh?”

“Hermione and Ginny, too,” Remus said, smirking.

“Dunno if I’m ready for all this, mate,” Sirius said, low.

Remus clapped Sirius on the shoulder. “You better get there in a hurry, then.”

  
MOLLY had already arrived at Grimmauld Place when Rane and Sirius finally came plodding downstairs, arms wrapped around one another’s waists. She and Wade were already busy in the kitchen creating a lavish spread for the day‘s festivities, and for some wonder, Kreacher was also in evidence, though he was pointedly not contributing. He had instead opted to sulk along the edges of the room, muttering to himself about blood traitors and “that nasty she-Elf and her father” (Rane found herself wondering, a little uneasily, if Kreacher knew about their baby, and if so how he felt about it; she considered briefly mentioning this to Sirius, who was loping about joking with Molly and singing to himself cheerfully, but dismissed this almost at once).

Harry, Ron and Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place late that afternoon, along with Fred, George and Ginny Weasley, the lot of them looking positively thrilled to be allowed out of Hogwarts for an impromptu weekend. Dumbledore himself was not in attendance, citing that he was required at Hogwarts to “keep the peace” (Rane, who knew Dolores Umbridge all too well, pitied him sincerely for it). Bill, Tonks, Kingsley, Mad-Eye and Arthur (the latter still walking with a slight limp) were not far behind, all of them shaking water briskly from their cloaks. The snow falling from the skies had turned into a hesitant slushy mix, the first real sign of the gradual thaw that intimated the inauguration of Spring.

Rane had remained outside in the chill for most of the evening, and then, wordlessly, she had come inside, plodded up to Sirius’s room and climbed into bed with him, pressing her body against his beneath the blankets in silence. Sirius had already been in bed, wide-eyed, silently forcing himself to give her some space. He had pulled her to him tightly, burying his face in her fragrant hair, and had done the only thing he could under the circumstances.

_Sorry,_ he had whispered. _Really._

_S’okay_ , Rane had replied. She had sounded genuine, too; her voice was light, even vaguely amused. It seemed that the crux of her exasperation had abated. _I should have told you about Lordran. I’m sorry for the way the Elves treated you, especially him. That was . . ._

She had shaken her head, her hair rustling on the pillow, her body warm against Sirius’s.

_There’s no excuse for that_ , she had said. _I should have known better than to_ -

_What does_ sang’wumei _mean_? Sirius had asked her suddenly.

Rane had shifted, clearly uncomfortable, her hands balling themselves into fists.

Sang’wumei _means harlot in Quenya_ , said Rane, very quiet. _They were jumping my ass for sleeping around. And using the High Speech as a further fuck you_ , by the way, she had added, sounding morose.

Sirius had fallen glumly silent, wondering when he would learn to keep his everlasting mouth shut.

_I love you_ , he had said at last, feeling unwieldy, but this seemed to be just what Rane was waiting to hear, because she rolled over and pulled his body to hers tightly, burying her face in his chest.

_Love you too, Sirius,_ she had said, sounding almost childishly meek, and Sirius, overwhelmed with affection for her, had closed his arms around her, silently hating the Elves a little, and their antiquated traditions, and even their beloved Iluvatar, for surely that being was responsible for her pain most of all.

Molly was pulling the twins, Ron and Ginny into a hug in the livingroom, her face pink from the cold; Kingsley and Arthur were speaking together nearby, smiling. Wade was greeting Bill with a broad grin on his face, Sirius had grasped Harry’s hand in earnest, beaming, and Tonks had stood on her tiptoes to peck Remus on the corner of his mouth. Rane, who was leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, her arms folded, smirked at the flush that rose from his collar.

“Hullo, Rane!” said Hermione, unwrapping the scarf around her neck.

“How’s Hogwarts treating you guys?” Rane asked her, pulling her into a quick one-armed hug. “I heard you guys got landed with Umbridge, she’s a real delicacy, ain’t she?”

Hermione made a face. “It’s been awful, really,” she said in a low voice. “She won’t let us do magic at all . . . And her punishment methods are bit . . . Well, barbaric.”

“She was such a twat to my dad and me at the Ministry,” said Rane, grimacing. “Especially me, she can’t stand half-breeds. Why they would put her in charge of a bunch of kids, I can’t fathom . . .”

"Sirius reckons it's Fudge interfering at Hogwarts," said Harry.

"I hate to say it, but he's probably onto something," Rane agreed, low. She'd mused over this herself over the past few months. Fudge making a power play against Dumbledore at such a critical time sounded far from unlikely.

“Well, we’ve taken matters into our own hands,” said Ron stoutly, walking up to stand at Hermione’s side, grinning. “Haven’t we, Hermione?”

Hermione glanced sidelong at him, looking alarmed. “Ron!”

“It’s okay, Hermione, she’s in the Order,” said Harry, who had approached the three of them as well. He offered Rane a smile. “We’ve decided to start a -”

“Harry, I‘ve got a bit of news.”

Sirius had appeared at Harry’s elbow, one hand on his shoulder.

“Well, we were wondering why you wanted us all here,” said Ron.

“Hermione reckons you’re getting married,” said Ginny. She, Fred and George had finally escaped their mother’s clutches and were looking a bit ruffled, holding butterbeers.

Hermione scoffed, looking mortified. “I never said -”

“Oh, is _that_ what it is?” said Fred. “Ugh, mum’s going to be revolting . . .”

“Mate, I dunno that Sirius can get married, he’s a convict,” said George sagely. “Don’t get me wrong, ’course, I love wedding cake . . .”

“We’re not getting married,” said Sirius, “we’re having a baby.”

The silence following these words was complete. Harry and Hermione were staring at Sirius with identical expressions of astonishment, both their mouths hanging open.

“You’re -” Hermione’s hands flew to her mouth. “Having a baby?”

“A . . . baby?” Harry repeated, looking thunderstruck.

“Yeah,” said Sirius anxiously.

“Blimey,” said Fred, blinking. “Well, I didn’t see that one coming, did you, George?”

George shook his head. “Thought it was a wedding for sure.”

“Oh, _congratulations!”_ said Ginny, beaming and clapping her hands.

“Harry, what d’you think?” said Sirius. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Harry; he was standing before him, wringing his hands, looking positively anxious.

“Wow . . . Sirius . . . Congratulations!” Harry blustered. “That’s - this is excellent!”

Sirius looked flustered. “I mean, I know it’s a bit sudden, we only just found out, and it’s all been a bit of a mess -”

“No, really, it’s . . . it’s excellent, mate!” Harry said, shaking his head. And now that the shock was wearing off, Rane was relieved to see that he looked genuinely pleased about the news. He wore a grin as he shook Sirius’s hand vigorously. “A baby! That’s really fantastic, Sirius!”

Sirius looked at Rane, his expression of intense relief mirroring her own.

“Blimey, it’s a bit like getting a brother or a sister or something, isn’t it?” said Ron, grinning.

Harry blinked. “Yeah, I reckon -”

“Oh!” said Hermione at last. Her eyes were swimming with tears as she threw her arms around Sirius. “Oh I’m so happy for you both!”

Mad-Eye and Bill had made their way over, both of them holding goblets of wine.

“Sirius, congratulations!” Mad-Eye said, seizing Sirius’s hand. “Excellent news, excellent, couldn’t be happier for the pair of you -!”

“Mum didn’t waste any time telling us, she was all of a dither,” said Bill, smiling. “How’d you know?”

“Morning sickness,” said Rane, shrugging. “The usual, I guess.”

“What does Wade think about it?” said Mad-Eye.

“I think I’m too young to be a grandpa,” said Wade, shoving his way between Mad-Eye and Bill.

“Mate, you’re older than everyone here combined, come off it,” said Bill, rolling his eyes.

“You were about to tell me what you guys were doing at school,” Rane said, lifting her chin at Harry.

“Oh! Blimey,” said Harry. He glanced between them with a curious, almost furtive expression. “Well, we started a . . . well, a sort of -”

“A dueling club,” said Hermione, her voice dropping. “To learn defensive magic.”

“We’re calling it Dumbledore’s Army,” said Fred, puffing out his chest.

“D.A. amongst friends, mind you,” George added.

“We’ve got about thirty people so far,” said Harry, grinning.

“Wow!” Rane placed her hands on her hips, looking between them, impressed. “That’s pretty ballsy of you guys. Sirius, did you know about this?”

Sirius shrugged and nodded. “I’ve already given them my blessing.”

“Where are you meeting?” Wade asked Harry. He looked as impressed as Rane felt. “Must be somewhere pretty good if Dolores hasn’t cottoned on yet . . .”

“Room of requirement,” said Harry with pride.

Mad-Eye threw his head back and laughed. “Brilliant!”

“Better not get caught,” said Bill forbiddingly, looking at Ron. “Mum’ll never get over it if you’re all expelled . . .”

“We won’t get caught,” said Hermione confidently. “We’re all being really careful. It’s quite well organized, actually, and Harry’s been brilliant, we’ve learned so much -”

“Well I think it’s a fantastic idea,” said Rane. “Better to find out how to defend yourself then sit around waiting for Voldemort to show up and curse the pants off of you.”

“Agreed,” said Wade, inclining his head at Harry, who beamed. 

  
The revelry lasted well into the night. By seven o’clock, almost everyone was in their cups and the conversation had grown boisterous and jovial. Sirius, Remus and Kingsley were deep in an examination of Fenrir Greyback, Bill was telling Arthur and Molly enthusiastically about Fleur (Rane wished dourly that he had brought her along), Fred and George were laughing as Tonks changed herself into Cornelius Fudge and then back again at their whim (Mad-Eye was observing this over his , and Wade was showing Harry, Ron and Hermione a few offensive spells.

“Okay, so is it a bit like this?” Harry was saying, twirling his wand.

“No, no, no,” Wade said, shaking his head petulantly, “quit doubting yourself, Harry, you’ve got to own it - here, like this -”

Wade waved his wand elaborately and Harry’s arms immediately crossed his chest, his fingers pointing rigidly upwards, his wand clattering to the floor.

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to get the jump on someone with that,” said Wade, lowering his wand. Harry’s arms relaxed at once and he bent and retrieved his wand, grinning. “The enemy doesn’t expect you to snatch their limbs from them, it’s worked wonders on Death Eaters for me loads of times.”

“What’s the spell again?” said Ron.

“Oh, honestly, haven’t you been listening?” said Hermione scathingly. “It’s _Armatameni_. Right, Wade?”

“Right you are,” said Wade, winking at her. She flushed scarlet, looking thoroughly pleased with herself.

“ _Armatameni_!” Ron said loudly, pointing his wand at Hermione. Her arms flew up so abruptly that she slapped her own forehead in passing, her wand flying from her hand at once.

“Ugh - Ron!” she gasped, glaring at him over her frozen forearms. “Geroff -!”

“Oh, blimey, sorry - erm -” Ron lifted his wand, looking stricken, and Hermione, her arms freed, knelt and retrieved her wand, looking quite put out.

“Just because we’ve been having lessons doesn’t mean you can whip out your wand and hex me whenever you please, you know!” she said, casting Ron a dire look.

“Right, right, sorry,” Ron said, his face crimson.

“It’s okay mate,” Rane said at his elbow, giving him a bracing nudge.

“Easy for you to say, you’re an Auror,” Ron replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and eyeing Hermione. She and Harry were now watching raptly as Wade brandished his wand again with unmistakable relish, showing them the correct gesture for the spell he’d just taught them.

“I’m not, actually,” Rane reminded him, casting him a wry smile. “I got fired, remember?”

Ron cast her a sidelong, embarrassed glanced, but she beamed at him. Before he could respond, however, Hermione had pointed her wand at him.

“ _Armatameni_!” she cried, and Ron keeled right over with the force of the spell, his arms firmly set over his chest in a solid X.

“Well done!” Wade admonished, clapping his hands together once. “You really got the hang of it quick, didn’t you?”

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione replied loftily, lifting her wand at her leisure. Ron gasped in a breath of air, his arms freed, staring in insult at Hermione.

“Blimey, you didn’t have to -!”

“Do you think we could use it against the Death Eaters?” Harry asked Wade. “If it came to it, I mean?”

Wade shook his head. “I hope you don’t have to, but I don’t see why not.”

Harry shared a furtive, triumphant look with Ron and Hermione. Rane, from where she was sitting alone on the sofa, a glass of cranberry juice in one hand, smiled to herself at the sight of it.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, looking at Wade with genuine gratitude. “Really, thank you.”

“Nothing to it!” Wade replied, waving a hand and grinning easily. “Happy to help the cause. Just don’t forget who showed it to you. I like my pretty just desserts just like the next guy, mind you . . . course, it was Sirius and James who taught it to me," he added, elbowing Harry, who grinned. "Your godfather's a clever old boy, you just can't remind him of it . . ."

He nodded pointedly at Sirius, whose back was to them as he debated Remus and Kingsley. Harry, Hermione and Ron snickered.

“Sirius!” Rane said loudly.

Sirius turned his head, his long dark hair twirling rather elegantly around him. For a moment Rane could see the pureblood aristocracy in him, in his chiseled features, the high set of his brow, the dark comma of his hair upon his forehead, the moue of concern on his lips that ended in dimples on each beard-shadowed cheek. He was handsome in the flickering firelight, almost painfully so, and on his face was an expression of superciliousness to rival that of the haughtiest Elf. For a moment Rane could almost imagine what his mother and father must have looked like in their primes; Walburta, not the haggard, shrieking old banshee in her portrait but a young, dark-haired, unsmiling woman, and Orion, a tall, imposing, cruelly angular man whose severe good looks Sirius's own echoed. She could see the a shade of something like parsimoniousness in his face, something she associated with many Pureblood families. She would never have dared speak any of this to Sirius, and now, as the light became clearer on his face, the idea of it died away into nothing, showing his simple, fair features in their honest goodness, and she felt quite silly for imagining it in the first place.

“What?” he said over his shoulder.

“My father is speaking ill of you."

“He wouldn’t dare.”

Wade laughed heartily. “I was just showing these young bucks how to show a Death Eater what’s what . . .”

“Don’t listen to a word he says,” said Remus, grinning over Sirius’s shoulder.

“Yes, he’s quite full of it, you know,” Sirius agreed gravely. “I _did_ think I smelled horse manure -”

Wade shot a silvery-red spell at Sirius, which he dodged, laughing.

“That’s _quite_ enough, Wade Roth!” Molly cried perilously from the corner of the room, peering over Bill’s shoulder (he was looking back at Wade with a grin). “We’re not at Hogwarts anymore, you lot aren’t sixteen - !”

“Blimey, she hits low doesn’t she?” said Sirius, coming over to where Wade and the rest of them stood, grinning sheepishly.

“So what are you going to call it?” Harry asked her.

Rane started a little. “Call - what -?”

"Well, the baby, of course!" said Hermione.

Rane looked quickly at Sirius, who was looking back at her, looking just as bewildered.

"Dunno," she said, meeting his eyes and smiling brilliantly. He grinned back, looking sheepish.

"We don't know what we'll call it," she said hesitantly. "I haven't even considered it, honestly . . . there's so much to think about . . ."

"You'll be the Godfather, of course," said Sirius abruptly, nodding to Harry.

Harry started visibly. " _Me_?"

"Sirius."

Sirius glanced sidelong at Rane, who was staring up at him, her eyes hard.

"What?" he replied.

"Harry," she said slowly, "is still in school."

"And what of it?" said Sirius loudly. Remus, from where he was still deep in discussion with Kingsley, looked up. "What of it, then? I want him to be the godfather regardless. If you have someone better, let's hear it."

"My dad," said Rane at once, but at once she regretted saying it. Because Rane knew her father, who was already cowering against this statement, shaking his head, his hands held before him like a shield.

"No," said Wade unnecessarily, stepping back. "No. Not me."

"Dumbledore," said Rane.

"No," said Sirius at once. "He's too old."

"Remus."

"Remus has enough to deal with," Sirius replied in a harsh whisper, glaring at Rane, and indeed Rane rather agreed before the word was entirely out of her mouth. She knew of the pain Remus endured; what of it, then, to add to it with a newborn child, a creature more demanding of his attention than anything that had come before, even his "condition?"

"Harry," said Rane quietly, looking at Harry, who was speaking to Ron, Fred and George with the giddy, calculating good-naturedness of a kid who was too deep in his teens to know any better. "He's too young, Sirius."

"He's seen more than most, Rane." He touched her wrist gently. "You don't know him like I do. It's got to be him. No one I'd trust more."

Rane looked at Sirius long and hard, her eyes slightly narrowed, and then sighed deeply. She turned her eyes to the cluster of students - Fred, George, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Harry - and watched for a moment as they spoke, watched as Harry gesticulated, mimicking Wade's coherent movement earlier as he showed them the motion for the spell. They all emulated it, watching Harry with a buck-eyed vigilance they surely could not be aware of.

"Alright," she said softly, looking at Harry watchfully, her own wand gripped tightly in her hand in her pocket, and Sirius breathed a sigh of relief, looking over the crowd.

“I’m tired,” she said softly to him, and Sirius glanced sidelong at her and nodded, not meeting her eyes. “Can we go to bed?”

“’Course,” said Sirius distractedly, looking aft without a glance her ways, and suddenly Rane was overcome with a sensation that she was too drunk, she was much too drunk to think. The world became slow, became abstract, and the words she said to Sirius -

_Can we go to bed? I don’t feel well._

Seemed to take a lifetime to extract from her dialect. Why, suddenly, had she felt so drunk? She had only had a butterbeer or two, this didn’t make sense. And worse - 

Wade, his voice patronizing and sober: _Sirius, will you take her up to bed? She’s not right, she’s had too much_ -

But had she? She didn’t remember drinking, she didn’t, and she tried to remember -

_Sirius, I didn’t -  
_

_Shhh, baby love, shush, just -  
_

And then she was in bed, and she was lying in that bed and looking around, and then Sirius was beside her, and he looked at her with frank disbelief, with gratitude almost, and she smiled at him brilliantly because the love she felt in herself for him was massive, was more than anything could claim. And then time seemed to leap forward, and she was in bed, _so_ tired, and the sensation that something was badly amiss followed her down into a restless sleep.


	17. Rane Wakes Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After days of unconsciousness, Rane awakens to some alarming news.

The next time Rane Roth opened her eyes, the ceiling she was looking at was not the one she knew.  
This was apparent to her at once because Sirius’s room was adorned with a high, almost Victorian altitude, with its four walls incongruously narrow in relation to its height. The result was a small, boxlike bedroom that had no width but enormous height, as if someone had wished to trap a small rodent in a tall box. There was no comfort in its structure, or humility; certainly there was no love. Rane had always privately thought that its strange size and shape might have been a testament to Sirius’s status as bête-noir of the family, though she would never have dredged up that ancient antipathy over so petty a thing. Though she had never asked to see Regulus’s room and Sirius had never offered, she had wondered if his room was wider, more generous. Whether the tallness of the room resulted of his family’s colossal wealth or a simple enchantment Rane neither knew nor particularly cared, but she thought there was something especially pitiless about the high ceiling in Sirius‘s room. It was as if his family were trying to make him feel trapped at the bottom of a pit.  
So not Sirius’s room. Which confused her, because she could remember falling asleep in Sirius’s bed just the night before.  
She blinked, and even the motion of her eyelids seemed heavy. With an effort, she turned her head, looking around her.  
What her eyes presented her with was an oddly familiar sight. She was in what she was quite sure was the room she had shared with Hermione and Ginny during the summer; the window near the far wall, where her bed had resided in happier times, was still there, and still cracked, letting in a chilly draft (again, despite her muddy thoughts, Rane imagined Kreacher opening that window from in the dead of night, letting in the cold to spite his unwelcome guests). In the corner, there were now two armchairs strikingly reminiscent of the ones Dumbledore had conjured all those long months prior when she had been inducted into the order. That had been ages ago, when she was still an Auror, 23 years old. How much older she had grown since then. How very much older.  
In the chairs were two men. One of them was Sirius Black, clad in a pair of tattered jeans and what she was quite sure was the blue plaid shirt she had bought him for Christmas. His arms were crossed over his chest, his hands clenching his sleeves in an almost childish gesture. His face, cast into resolution in the dim light of the candelabra floating near the far wall, was handsome and troubled, his chin stubbled with the beginnings of what might be a two-day beard. He had crossed his legs before him on the side table that usually sat beside the bed she had slept in over the summer, his shoes lying forgotten beneath his armchair.  
At his side was Wade Roth, who was slumped against the side of his own armchair, an ancient-looking afghan wrapped around his shoulders, his chin hanging against his shoulder, his long blond hair obscuring his face. Rane recognized the afghan with a start; it was something her mother had made for her, years prior, when she had finally left Hogwarts.  
Being a girl with precious little true family, Rane’s graduation had been acknowledged by few. She’d received a couple of uncertain cards from her muggle grandparents in America, a pair of people she’d met only once as a young girl ( _Good luck in primary school!_ one read, despite her being seventeen and poised to enter the adult world). Her Elven grandfather Orris (one of the most frightening creatures she had ever met, a soft-spoken, menacing Elf with long, gray-blond hair and piercing blue eyes) had crafted her a short, brutal blade from Sindarin steel that she had kept in her back jeans pocket every moment since then like a boon.  
And then there had been this afghan, which had been the only gift her mother had ever given her, even in her childhood. She had sent it in an unadorned brown package wrapped with string, and when the afghan had tumbled out, hand-made and bright purple, Rane had stared at it as if unable to believe what she was seeing. Her mother had not only given her something; her mother had made something for her. The combination was almost unfathomable to her, and she remembered staring up at her father over the torn paper, her eyes wide and her eyebrows drawn, baffled.  
There had been a note, written in a scrawling, flat handwriting that Rane hardly knew as her mother’s because she had seen it only a handful of times. It read:

 _Rane,_  
I hope your days are happy. I made this for you. Love you, my sweet girl.  
I will see you soon I trust.  
-Lori, your mommy

And even with that disassocative conclusion ( _Lori, your mommy_ \- as if Rane didn’t know who Lori might be without thinking about it for a second), she was overcome with emotion. Lori had not sent her so much as a birthday card since she was four . . . Indeed, their few talks had been overwrought with anger, because almost every time her mother had been drunk on the phone, and it had ended in the cling of a furious hang-up. _You’re just like your dad_ , she would say almost every time, _You two deserve each other_. There had never been anything to hint that Rane was cherished in any real way, not the way children were cherished by their mothers, she thought. So why would a mom send her kid something like this, if not for love? Did her mom _love_ her?  
_Mom made this for me_ , she had said, her voice flat, her big hazel eyes sparkling with the beginnings of tears. She had looked at her father standing over her with an astonishment that was not quite disbelief. _Dad, mom_ made _this for me_.  
And Wade, who was looking at this gift with equal astonishment, was nodding, keeping his face carefully blank, looking not shocked or resentful but simply thrilled, thrilled for his daughter.  
_She sure did, baby_ , he had said. His voice had been sad, for some reason. _You keep it, always, okay?_  
Okay, said Rane, and she had. She had kept it on her bed, had often come home from the horror of Auror training and pressed her face into it, imagining she could smell the woman that would have been her mother in another world, weeping silent tears into the fuzzy wool that left damp spots on the violet fabric. It had sat on her bed in a silent testimony to her mother for years now, despite that very woman’s almost constant silence in her life, and whenever she had brought one of her rare beaus home to her sad flat, and he had inevitably asked about this beautiful purple blanket, she had proudly told him, _Yes, my mother made it for me when I graduated from Hogwarts, isn’t it lovely?_ And somehow, Wade must have snatched it from her ratty apartment, and here he sat, wrapped in it. What a perfectly mad thing to witness.  
“That’s mine,” she said, and was unpleasantly shocked at how gritty her voice sounded, as if she had not used it in days.  
Wade’s eyes flew open at once - he was an Elf, he heard everything, whether he liked it or not, after all - but Sirius remained still, silent, his breathing deep and regular.  
“Yes, it is,” he said, sitting up at once, then standing. Something about the slow, cautious movement of him made Rane uncomfortable - as if he were sneaking up on a rabbit, trying not to frighten it off. “It sure is, Rane old girl, the very same.”  
He took two steps towards her, his top half bent slightly, still creating that illusion of trying to get the spry on a little animal.  
“You remember who gave it to you, Raney ol‘ Rane, you girl of mine?” he asked her, using a childhood name she had not heard in aeons.  
“Mom,” said Rane hoarsely. “She made it for me. After I got out of Hogwarts.”  
Wade had reached her bedside, and presently he threw a hand behind him; the armchair he had been sitting on came flying to him, its legs scuffing against the floor, squeaking unpleasantly. Wade sat down in it without looking, now only a few inches from Rane. She could see the circles under his eyes and the lines at the corner of his mouth as he frowned at her, his brows knitted.  
“Yes, she sure did,” said Wade softly. He reached out and snared one of her hands, which was lying on the coverlet she was buried in. His grasp was warm and dry. “You remember what she said in her note?”  
“She said she loved me and she hoped to see me soon,” Rane muttered. “She signed it ‘Lori, your mommy.’”  
Wade grimaced at this a little, but nodded. He grasped the afghan, which was still rolled about his shoulders, and pulled it into his lap, as if he were vaguely revolted by it.  
“Yes, baby, she sure did.”  
“What’s going on, dad?”  
Wade looked at her for a long moment.  
“Somebody poisoned you, baby,” he said at last. “The Elves, I think.”  
Rane’s eyes fell shut at once. The terror that rose in her solar plexus was instant, massive, and single-minded. One hand slipped beneath the blanket, down to her lower belly, which she clutched as if expecting to feel an open wound, an empty hole.  
“My baby,” she said, and was terrified to hear the fear in her own voice. It vibrated hither and yon, in perfect tandem with the pulsing headache that was now settling itself comfortably into her skull. It was her heartbeat, she realized. It was pounding in her chest hard enough to hear.  
“Your baby’s okay,” Wade said quietly.  
Rane loosed a whistling sigh. She sat back on her pillow, eyes squeezed shut, breathing hard.  
“The Elves,” she said sharply. The sudden fury of her voice caused two things to happen; first, her headache not only doubled but trebled. Second, Sirius started awake, jumping from his place so suddenly he overturned the side table his feet were resting on. He was looking at Rane with a pale expression of total shock, total exhaustion, his eyes red-rimmed, his mouth a thin line in his face. Nothing, not the sight of the two most important men in her life sitting asleep on chairs near her bedside, nor finding herself in another room, nor falling fabulously drunk when she had not drank a drop, scared her more than that face. Because Sirius was brave, and here he was terrified beyond reason. And how close had it been, whatever it was? How close?  
“Rane, you need to relax,” said Wade, speaking as if he was trying to soothe a frightened horse that was apt to bolt. “Lay _down_ , baby -”  
“Rane.”  
That was Sirius, and Rane’s entire body seemed to melt at the sound of him. He was there, bending over her, never minding to bring his armchair over. His dark hair, clearly matted, was hanging in his face, and he looked bad, he looked worn, but her love for him leapt up and her hand found a tendril of his hair and tugged gently.  
“Sirius, the Elves didn’t kill our baby, did they?” she whispered.  
Sirius shook his head at once, and she fell back in what was almost a faint of relaxation because she knew Sirius would never lie to her, not about this.  
“No,” he said, and then he cast a terrible look sideways at Wade. “But they sure did try.”  
Wade looked between them, his face pale.  
“I had nothing to do this,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “We’ve been over this, Sirius, you _know_ I wouldn’t -”  
“Who was it, then?” said Sirius, his voice very low. Rane thought it was the voice of a dog prepared to leap and attack.  
“I don’t know,” Wade replied. His face betrayed no fear; instead, he looked only angry. As angry as Sirius. “I don’t know, Sirius.”  
“How, then?” Rane asked, rubbing her forehead ruefully. “ _Man_ , I feel rough.”  
Wade shook his head. “Baby, if I knew, I’d tell you,” he said. “The Elves have been at headquarters before, but not the other night.”  
“Molly,” said Rane suddenly. “Ask Molly.”  
The two men looked at her.  
“Why?” said Sirius.  
“I don’t know,” said Rane truthfully. The intuition had come to her in a rush, and now her headache was coming back, as well as a new pain - something in her lower ribcage, a quiet agony like an ulcer. Whatever she had taken had given her a hell of a case of acid reflux. “Ask her.”  
Sirius continued to stare at Rane in silence, looking bewildered, but Wade, who knew the peril of taking intuition for granted, rose from his chair and left the room in a brisk stride. Rane heard his thundering footsteps rising the stairway.  
“How long has it been?” she asked Sirius instead, and his hand tightened around hers.  
“Four days,” he said.  
“ _Jesus_.” Four days. Almost a week.  
“The baby is okay,” she said again, not letting it become a question. Four days was a long time without food, water -  
“Yes,” Sirius said, and when he did he gripped her hand tightly and lowered his face to hers. He was looking into her eyes, his gray meeting her hazel, and she could smell the tang of firewhiskey on his breath from what was perhaps hours ago.  
“What happened?” Rane rubbed her face, shaking her head. “I can’t remember anything except getting drunk -”  
“Yes, that’s how it looked,” Sirius agreed, “but I was with you all night, and I never saw you drink anything -”  
“Of course not, not with a bun in the oven -”  
“Right,” said Sirius. His face was oddly pale. “You asked to go upstairs and I took you up, and I joined you later . . . And you seemed alright, you were just asleep, but then . . .”  
He trailed off, looking at Rane, a curious expression on his face.  
“What, Sirius,” said Rane very quietly. Her hands had balled themselves into fists on the blanket.  
Sirius swallowed. “Then . . . You . . .”  
He stopped abruptly, put the back of his hand to his mouth and stared off into the darkness of the room. Suddenly he gave a harsh, rasping hork sound and fled to the waste bin in the front of the room. He flew to his knees, both hands grasping the sides white-knuckled, and there his head hung in silence, his eyes clasped shut.  
“Sirius -!”  
Sirius gagged again harshly, then after a moment of silence he rose, placing one hand over his mouth. He stared at Rane from across the room, his eyes haunted.  
“What -?”  
He strode back across the room, walking with the tentative caution of which only the about-to-vomit are capable, then hesitantly sat in the armchair Wade had left, wiping his hand solicitously on the front of his shirt and taking Rane’s hand again.  
“What happened?” Rane asked him softly after a moment.  
“You changed,” he said. “In the middle of the night, you changed.”  
“You mean -”  
“Yeah, I mean you - there was light, and you spoke in some . . . Some strange language,” said Sirius. “My bedroom . . . Remus and Mad-Eye fixed it up yesterday, finally. The ceiling caved in, the wallpaper peeled off. You set fire to my clothes.”  
Rane stared at him in silent horror.  
“Buckbeak was terrified,” Sirius went on. “He destroyed my mum’s old room. Like a spooked horse. He knew, he knew it was happening.”  
Rane took a breath that felt like metal in her chest. Her head fell back and her eyes were again staring at the ceiling above her. She had done it. She had done the thing she had always been so terrified she would do one day. She had lost control. Her mind presented her with a hideous picture; Rane Roth, rampaging like a mad elephant, going off like a human bomb in the center of a place of sanctuary for so many, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, the only resistance to Voldemort. Whose side was she on? The question made her violently sick, and she coughed hoarsely.  
Hardly able to voice it aloud, she said, “Is everyone -?”  
Sirius nodded at once. “Yeah, everyone’s okay. Bit battered up but none the worse.”  
Rane sighed hoarsely. “Thank God.”  
“I don‘t think he had much to do with it,” said Wade from behind them.  
They both turned. Molly stood there at Wade’s side in a housecoat. Rane didn’t like the way she was looking at her immediately; it was the way a canary would look at a hungry cat. Her eyes were broad with fear.  
“Molly, please, I didn’t mean it,” said Rane at once. The shame she felt at seeing that expression was profound; Molly was more than her fellow Order member, she was a friend, a dear friend, and she couldn’t bear this -  
“Rane,” said Molly, rushing forward, “dear -”  
And then she was hugging her, enveloping her in a fluff of red hair, and Rane, though her limbs were tired and sluggish, hugged her back as hard as she could.  
“Oh, my dear, oh my dear one,” said Molly fiercely, squeezing Rane, “oh my dear, it wasn’t you, it was me . . . It was me, it was all me -”  
“What?”  
Molly withdrew, looking around her in that same terrified way, like a deer in headlights.  
“He came to the door, you see,” she said softly. “He said he had a gift, that he was a friend to the Order. From the Elves. And of course, why wouldn’t they know where our headquarters were? They did, for so many years last time!”  
Wade and Sirius, standing side by side, looked at her.  
“Who was it, Molly?” Sirius asked at length.  
Molly shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “He didn’t say. He only said he was an envoy from the Elves - from the, oh, what did he call it - the Elly-Faloom -”  
“What did he look like?” Wade asked her quietly.  
“He was tall,” said Molly fearfully. “He had long black hair and blue eyes.”


	18. The Palaver I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Wade travel to Ylle Thalas to accost Rane's attacker, despite her protests.

  
Rane had never seen her father truly angry until the day he learned that Lordran of Ylle Thalas had tried to murder his daughter.

She had seen him upset, yes . . . She’d seen him miffed, seen his patience run out, seen him shout on occasion. She’d spent her youth being disciplined by him, after all, and felt what any grown child will feel for a parent such as him; a sometimes exasperating trepidation at the clear potential of his temper which lurked beneath his cheerful, sardonic, grinning exterior. Wade was a notoriously mild-mannered fellow, a jokester with a knack for finding humor in even the nastiest circumstances, and his status as an Auror had always stricken Rane as slightly off-kilter because of it. He seemed too biddable, too unruffled for such a high-stress, dangerous career, one she had seen the perils of firsthand. She knew he was a warrior, of course, a _maethor_ of Elyfalume who was venerated amongst his comrades not only in spite of his often tenuous relationship with the Elves but seemingly because of it. She had seen him in battle, had learned all he knew of swordsmanship and combat.

So it should have come as no surprise when she saw his temper finally spill over, not in a trickle but a flood, like a shooting pillar of flames from a kindled smokestack. But it did, nonetheless. Even in her current state, her body well on its way to atrophy from so many days lying comatose, her stomach sourly empty and her head thumping evilly with dehydration, she felt not just alarm but fear. For the first time, she fully appreciated why the Elves sometimes called him _rochon’baug;_ he who bites.

When Molly had finished giving her brief recounting of Lordran’s gift, his few words of congratulations and his hasty refusal to stay for a drink, Wade turned to Sirius and Rane. His eyes were blazing, and his mouth had thinned to the merest line in his face. The flickering firelight sent the shadows around his eyes into sharp resolution, making him seem neither human or Elf but almost fiendish. One hand had slipped to the helm of his sword which hung sheathed at his belt. His knuckles were as white as bone.

“Dad,” said Rane, alarmed. Her voice sounded timid and frightened to her own ears.

She sat up, ignoring the thudding in her skull, swinging her legs over the bed. Sirius placed a hand on her shoulder at once.

“Hang on -”

Rane shook him off, her eyes never leaving her father’s.

“Dad, no,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “There are too many.”

She knew the instant she had met his eyes what he planned to do. He meant to kill Lordran, even if it meant taking on the whole of Ylle Thalas to do it, and consequences be damned. His breathing had become ragged, shearing through his teeth.

“What do you mean to do?” Molly asked him, her hands clasped at her bosom, looking at him anxiously. “What -?”

“Molly, why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Wade asked her softly.

Molly shrunk beneath his imperious gaze. “I didn’t put it together until Remus mentioned that the Elves weren’t pleased with Rane . . . I was in my cups, Wade, and the Elves are here at headquarters sometimes, it didn’t seem very odd . . .”

She looked between Rane and Wade.

“Who was he? That Elf?”

“That was Lordran,” said Wade. “A Highborn from Elyfalume. An enemy.”

“We can’t be sure it was Lordran,” said Sirius. But Rane thought she heard the same burning fury in his voice that she heard in her father’s, the same reckless rage, and she felt certain that the words coming from his mouth were token only. “None of the rest of us saw him, Molly wouldn’t have known . . .”

“How do we know it wasn’t a Death Eater?” Rane said, looking at Wade. She didn’t think that it _had_ been a Death Eater, not really . . . But if it meant derailing him for a moment, maybe -

But he was already shaking his head. “This is a house full of Aurors, there’s not a single person here who wouldn’t have recognized a Death Eater -”

“What about Polyjuice Potion, or -?”

“Rane, what Death Eater has an axe to grind with you, specifically?” Wade asked her roughly. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“They might’ve wanted to poison us all, it may not have been just for me, Dad -”

“Rane, come on.” Wade shook his head. “A flagon of _juice?_ In a house full of adults? You were the only one not drinking that night, and whoever it was dropped it off knew that you wouldn’t, which means they also knew you were pregnant. Who can you think of that knows you’re pregnant, huh? Who can you think of who’s mad as hell about it?”

Rane fell silent, staring at him.

“There are only three _nolvor_ in Ylle Thalas,” said Wade. Though he offered no explanation, Rane knew the word from her youth - nolvor were dark-haired Elves, a rare breed indeed; she could count on one hand the ones she’d met herself. “And two of them are _women!”_

With this final word he slammed his fist into the wall so hard a puff of dust erupted.

“You mean to go to Elyfalume,” said Sirius, low.

“I mean just that,” said Wade. “And right goddamned now.”

“No!” said Rane sharply. “Dad, don’t -!”

“I’m coming with you,” said Sirius briskly.

“Like hell you are!” Rane said loudly. She got to her feet and a wave of such faintness rolled over her that she had to grasp the bedpost with white-knuckled, panicky tightness to avoid keeling right over and losing her footing. The world swam into grayness for a moment and she felt Sirius’s steadying grip on her upper arm.

“Like . . . Like hell you are,” she said again, focusing on his face at last. He stood at her side, looking askance at her, his long black hair hanging in his face. “Sirius -”

“I’d welcome the help,” said Wade from the doorway. “It’s going to be dangerous, though.”

Rane found the idea of her father so murderously angry yet still able to retain the foresight to anticipate the need for aid very scary indeed. She turned her eyes on him.

“Dad, they will _kill - you - both_ ,” she said, enunciating each word.

“We made out alright with the Death Eaters,” said Sirius, glancing at Wade. “I think -”

“These aren’t a bunch of shit-for-brains Death Eaters with eight years of magical training and a scary boss, Sirius,” said Rane. She was trying to keep her voice steady, sensible. “These are Elyfalumians, these are _Elves!_ They’ve been trained in swordsmanship for thousands of years a piece! They’ll railroad you both! You don’t have a chance! An army of us, the whole damn _Order_ wouldn’t have a chance!”

She stared at her father.

“You know they’ll kill you,” she said quietly. “Then what? Please . . . Please, don’t be stupid because you‘re pissed off.”

“ _Pissed off?_ ” said Wade, gaping at her. “You think I’m _pissed off,_ Rane?”

Rane stared at him, silent.

“I’d be _pissed off_ if I sat on my sunglasses,” he said slowly. “I was _pissed off_ when Fudge shitcanned you, I was _pissed off_ when I found out you were pregnant.”

He gesticulated towards the doorway, his face warped with rage.

“That - that MOTHERFUCKER tried to murder my KID!” he bellowed. “This isn’t being PISSED OFF, Rane! Do you understand?”

Molly was frozen in the corner, watching this exchange in silent terror, her eyes wide. Sirius was staring at Wade, clearly ready to spring away the instant he said boo, breathing quickly.

Wade remained halfway out of the doorway, glaring at his daughter. Rane returned his gaze, her eyes narrowed, her mouth drawn down.

“Please,” she said softly.

Wade sighed roughly, ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at her again.

“Rane, you know I love you,” he said quietly. “But this . . . This I have to do.”

Rane looked at him for a long moment.

“Be careful, then,” she said, matching his tone. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

Wade strode forward and took her by the shoulders. He bent and planted a kiss on her forehead. Then, straightening, he leveled a finger at Sirius.

“You and me are going to Ylle Thalas,” he said. “And we’re going to have a good old-fashioned _tête-à-tête_ with Lordran and whoever else was in on this. _Don’t,”_ he added quickly as Rane opened her mouth. “Don’t, Rane. I’ll play nice if they do, but you know damn good and well that if we don’t make a move on this there’s liable to be worse trouble.”

Rane shut her mouth reluctantly. This, at least, was true; to ignore such an aggressive move would be a bad mistake. The rules of engagement that the Elves held to were non-negotiable; if it had been more than just Lordran, her father had a fair point.

“I’m coming,” she said.

_“No.”_

Wade, Sirius and Molly had all spoken this firm refusal in tandem. Rane sat back down with a flump, looking around her irritably.

“Look, I’m fine -!”

“You survived whatever that was because you’re a _Peredhil,_ and that’s the _only_ reason,” said Wade shortly. “You’ll stay right there in that bed. Molly, make sure she does,” he added, nodding to Molly.

Molly nodded back, her face still deathly pale. Rane found herself intensely grateful that Molly’s fearful expression had at last passed; she could not remember being more appalled with herself than when Molly was looking at her like a rabid dog apt to attack.

“Fine,” Rane said. “Don’t be long.”

“Can’t promise that, babydoll,” said Wade, shaking his head.

“Dad.”

Wade looked at her for a long moment.

“Alright, we’ll hurry back,” he said at length. “Happy?”

“No,” said Rane, but she was pulling the coverlet back up around her shoulders, clearly a concession of concord.

“Wade, Sirius, you really oughtn’t,” Molly said to the two men without much conviction. “Dumbledore ought to -”

“Not up for debate, Molly,” said Wade, not unkindly.

“It’s Order business now, you know, the rest of us should -”

“This isn’t Order business,” said Wade. “This is _Rane_ business, Molly. If half the damn Order itself had been killed in the process, they wouldn’t have thought twice.” 

“Wade, are you _sure?”_ Molly was looking at him anxiously.

Wade shifted his weight, looking at her. “Think about _Ron,_ Molly. And _Ginny._ Harry, Hermione, Fred, George . . . They’re _kids,_ for Christ’s sake, and they could have taken a flagon of that stuff just as easily as Rane did. And they wouldn’t have made it, Molly. None of them would’ve stood a chance, make no mistake about it.” He shook his head. “Never mind Bill and Tonks . . . Neither of them has seen their twenty-fifth yet, for Christ’s sake . . .”  
  
Molly was looking at him, pale.

“We could all have been stood over a cooling board right now passing our respects instead of standing in this room, no doubt about it. There isn’t a wizard or witch alive could have stopped it, Dumbledore included.”

Molly flinched. Her face seemed to harden; Rane thought she saw a flash of anger in her eyes, and was grateful for it in spite of everything. “Right you are.”

“Don’t get him killed,” said Rane.

Sirius looked at her, his expression softening. “I can take care of myself, love,” he said quietly.

“I mean it,” Rane added, not meeting his eyes. She was looking squarely at her father. “Get him back to me in one piece, dad.”

Wade linked his thumbs in his belt and looked at her, not smiling.

“I’ll do all I can, girl. Count on that.”

With this, he swept from the room in a swirl of robes. Sirius strode after him. Rane and Molly listened to the litany of their footsteps trailing off down the staircase.

“They’ll be alright,” said Molly, touching Rane’s hand gently. Rane thought she sounded none too sure. “They know what they’re doing.”

Rane took a deep breath and let it out, staring at the empty doorway where her father and the man she loved had just stood. Downstairs, the sound of the front door slamming unceremoniously came to them, muffled and final.

“They better be,” she said quietly. One hand stole out and touched her belly, all unconscious. “They just goddamned better.”

  
THE POP that announced Wade and Sirius arriving at the gates of Ylle Thalas went almost unheard in the whistling wind around them. It was raining lightly, something Sirius knew signified that Spring had done more than threaten. The warmth would be sinking its roots into the frozen ground even now, spreading its waking message far and wide. The little snow that remained was piled against only the most shaded tree trunks; elsewhere, grass was exposed, most yellowed and dull but some shot through with sparks of bright green. The rolling boughs above them threw dappled shadows now, and glancing up Sirius could see the budding branches in the hazy sunlight, ready to burst forth at the slightest urging. It was early May, not too soon for such a thing. Sirius had loved the Spring since he’d been a very young child, toddling about in clouts on his mother’s veranda with Kreacher skulking along behind him, making sure he didn’t keel over and bust his silly head open. He loved the new life, the reawakening that it represented, and in his soul he’d always secretly felt that fresh birth opening like a blossom within himself, too, something he’d never have divulged to Remus, Peter and James when they asked him in mildly bemused tones why he was in such a good mood each April and May at Hogwarts.

And so he wasn‘t surprised at the sensation of faint liveliness he knew looking about him, the tingly good cheer he felt in the bottom of his stomach in spite of the circumstance. Except now he felt something else, too, running along beneath the surface like a vein of oil under a florid meadow; a strange, lonesome sense of conclusion that he had never known before. It filled him with a curious combination of dread, relief, and a desperate, almost urgent loneliness for Rane.

“Sirius, come on,” said Wade loudly, jolting Sirius out of his reverie. He was already standing about ten feet ahead, looking back impatiently. He had drawn both his wand and his sword, and held one in each hand. His blade twinkled in the low light.

“Right,” said Sirius, jogging towards him and pulling his own wand out as he went. “What d’you reckon?”

“Well, it’s not apt to be easy,” said Wade musingly. “Rane has a point, these guys aren’t to be trifled with. There are something like four thousand Elves in Ylle Thalas at any given time, and every single one of them can use a sword. Most better than me, and I‘m pretty damn good.” He gestured at Sirius’s wand, which he’d drawn. “Some of em won’t let on, but they know magic, too. No wands necessary, and twice as good as any wizard.”

Sirius snorted sardonically. “Two against four thousand, it’ll be a doddle.”

Wade glanced over at Sirius as they strode toward the city gates, his face bemused. “A what, now?”

“Means it’ll be easy street’” said Sirius wryly, looking amused.

“Well,” said Wade, “I think we’re in for it, as the saying goes.”

“Brilliant,” said Sirius, low.

“You know a scosh of defensive magic, I trust.”

“A _scosh?”_

“Means ‘a bit,’” said Wade, looking amused. “Get it together, my dude.”

Sirius scoffed, his wand held aloft before him. They were drawing toward the gate, which was, as per usual, guarded by two sentinels.

“I could’ve taken on Grindlewald,” Sirius told Wade in just more than a whisper, sounding quite unabashed. “That’s the truth.”

“Grindewald was a pushover,” Wade replied loftily. “Take it from someone who dueled him.”

“He was _not_ -!” Sirius hissed, sounding shocked.

“Shush,” Wade replied, placing a hand out towards Sirius. He rose his voice as they approached the sentinels, who had both lifted their swords on the approach. “We’re here on business, lads. _Varilterende_ and Sirius Black of the Order of the -”

“No entry,” one of the guards replied in a gruff voice. His sword glittered at the ready in the cool light. “Strict orders from -”

 _“Incarcerous!”_ Sirius bellowed, and the guard was instantly bound in tight ropes. He fell awkwardly onto his side, all grace gone; the silvery helmet clattered from his head, revealing the round pallid face of a man surely no older than Bill at a glance. He stared at Sirius with round blue eyes, completely shocked.

“You can’t -!” the second guard began loudly, but then Wade had parried his glancing blow and stricken him with the elbow of his left arm. At the same time, he pointed his wand at the unlucky fellow and muttered, _“locomotor mortis!”_ The Elf lumbered over onto the ground with his mate, stiff as a board.

“Stay there like a good lad,” Sirius murmured as they strode past, kicking the second guard’s sword away from him for good measure.

“Atta boy,” Wade said appraisingly, clapping him on the shoulder.

Sirius found himself mimicking the light, stealthy steps Wade was taking almost without effort, though try as he may the sounds his feet made as they hit the marble road was unmistakably louder.

“How are you so damn quiet?” he muttered to Wade, frustrated.

“Elf,” Wade replied, his sword clutched at his side.

Sirius made a soft sound of apprehension, but before he could retort, their road was suddenly blocked by a squadron of people. There were four guards, their helmets gleaming in the low light. At their forefront stood Lordran, his inky black hair drifting lazily in the breeze, his bright blue eyes hard and unforgiving. At his side, her face fair and terrible, was Iliwynn.

“What is the meaning of this, _Varilterende?”_ she said, her brows drawn down imperiously.

“That one right there,” said Wade loudly, straightening. He pointed his sword slowly and imperiously towards Lordran. “I’d like to know the reason why Lordran tried to take my daughter’s life.”

They stood facing one another, motionless. Sirius held his wand aloft, pointing directly at Lordran, who was glaring at him with clear dislike, the sneer on his mouth spoiling his good looks and making him almost golem-like. Around them, the chilly wind, last remnant of the winter, rushed about them.


	19. The Palaver II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Wade confront the Elyfalumian Elves.

  
_“Undunai!”_ said Iliwynn loudly.

Sirius had never heard this title before, but Wade had. It was the name his father had given him when he was still a young man, training beneath a cadre of maethor so many aeons ago. It meant disruptive son, and it had stuck firmly to him since then. His father, Orris, a rigid and humorless Elven warrior and noble, was not ordinarily prone to such lighthearted admonishments, or indeed any pronouncements of fondness at all, and so Wade, though he affected dismay at his nickname, had always secretly rather liked it. Now, this almost affectionate moniker, so strangely out of place coming from Iliwynn, seemed like a glimmer of light in a dark room, a flicker of tune in an offbeat melody. It cut through his fury cleanly.

“Do you call me so?” said Wade, sounding surprised.

“I do,” said Iliwynn. Her expression was so full of clear anger that Sirius had a difficult time looking directly at her. It was as if she were emitting jetties of invisible sunlight. “I will call any man so, if he chooses to attack my sentries and draw his weapon in my house.”

“Iliwynn, we’ve come because Lordran tried to -” Sirius began, but Iliwynn swept a hand out toward him without meeting his eyes and Sirius’s mouth snapped shut at once. She kept her gaze firmly on Wade. At her side, the four guards had all drawn their swords and were holding them at the ready, motionless and quite serene, their helmets sparkling in the indigo fairy-lights glistening above them. Sirius didn’t know how fast they were with those weapons, but he sensed that even his own magical prowess, formidable enough to put an entire wizarding regime on edge, would be useless against these Elves.

“ _Qu’el undon estas unl’y mor?_ ” Wade bellowed. Sirius didn’t know the words for what they meant - _Why do you send your kin to murder mine?_ \- but if he had, he would have approved.

And for a wonder, even Sirius saw the amazement on Iliwynn’s face for what it was; the first taste of a bitter, jolting truth. Her eyes went wide, her mouth dropped open, and the fingers that clasped her sword’s hilt relaxed. Her weapon clattered roughly to the ground, its blade gleaming.

“What do you speak of, _Varilterende?”_ she said, very quietly.

Wade gestured towards Lordran with his sword. “Lordran made an attempt on my kid’s life. Tried to bushwhack her on her own turf at Order headquarters, Iliwynn.”

“Lordran would not,” said Iliwynn, still so quiet it seemed her lips hardly moved. “Lordran would never -”

“Lordran already did,” said Sirius, unable to hold his tongue.

Iliwynn stared between Wade and Sirius. Disbelief held her for a moment longer, but it seemed Lordran was quicker. He did not waste a moment savoring her hesitation.  
His own sword was sheathed in a heartbeat, and with a swift motion he had turned, his black hair swirling around his head in an aura, and begun to dart away, his speed almost preternatural -

“CONFRINGO!” Sirius bellowed, aiming his wand deftly. A massive blossom of fire, its heat bursting out at them in a flash, erupted from the stones beneath Lordran‘s feet with a muffled roar, exploding upwards and sending him flying. His lean form flew like a rag doll, his robes rippling in the air; he landed with an unpleasant flump on his back some ten feet away, the sword clattering from his hand.

“ILIWYNN, CONTROL YOUR KINSMEN!” Lordran shouted, his face drawn in the diminishing flames of Sirius’s spell. Already he was beginning to crabwalk away from them, his inky hair hanging in his face, his breath shearing out from between his teeth in huffs.

But Wade and Sirius both had wands on him at once.

“Right where you are and not another move,” Wade growled at him.

“Lower your wands,” one of the guards said. Sirius didn’t turn, but in his periphery he could see the gleaming silver of four swords aimed directly at the two of them.

“He lies, Iliwynn,” Lordran hissed, glaring between Sirius and Wade at Iliwynn, who stood quite still looking at him. “His _Peredhil_ brood fills his fool’s head with lies to sabotage our -”

“Iliwynn,” said Wade, looking over his shoulder at her. The reflections of the swords aimed at him glanced across his forehead. “You know damn good and well I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

Iliwynn had not moved from where she was. She was watching all three of them, motionless, her guards holding arms at the ready at her sides.

“He wants her dead,” Sirius muttered, eyeing Lordran through narrowed eyes. “And our baby, too. Don’t you, you rat bastard, eh?”

“I have no interest in your half-blood _sang’wumei,_ Sirius Black!” Lordran spat.

“DON’T YOU CALL HER THAT!” Sirius roared with such ferocity that Lordran recoiled as if slapped. A few emerald sparks flew from the tip of Sirius’s trembling wand.

“He’s got _every_ goddam interest,” said Wade, low, still addressing Iliwynn. “He’s been pissed off that she knocked him back for years. You know that. Everybody does. And now with her kid, with Sirius - Iliwynn, think. _Think.”_

The guards were now looking at Iliwynn for instruction. One of them murmured something to her in Elvish, but she didn’t acknowledge him in the least. She was looking from Lordran to Wade and Sirius and then back. Her brow was furrowed.

“ILIWYNN!” Lordran shouted.

Presently, Iliwynn bent swiftly, snatched her sword from the ground and held it loosely at her side, her knuckles white against its helm. Tendrils of her long blond hair wavered gently before her face in the cool wind.

“Speak quickly,” she said softly.

“He came to Order headquarters,” said Wade steadily, gesticulating with his wand. A few orange sparks flew out of its tip, and Lordran flinched. “Gave one of our members a cask of cranberry juice spiked with poison.”

Iliwynn drew in a breath sharply.

“Rane drank it,” Wade went on, “and for a wonder no one else did, or this one here would be a wizard killer on top of the rest. _Kids,_ Iliwynn! There were _kids_ there! Fourteen, fifteen years old, some of them, let alone a pregnant girl not yet thirty -”

“And Rane?” said Iliwynn gently. Her voice sounded hoarse. “What of Rane?”

“She survived,” said Wade, and Iliwynn sighed roughly, the hand holding her sword trembling minutely. “But she only made it because she’s a Peredhil, and I guaran-fucking-tee you that wasn’t something this one here had in mind when he did it, because if he’d thought twice she’d be gutted with Sindarin steel right now instead of lying on a cot sipping Pepperup Potion.”

“How can you know that it was Lordran?” said Iliwynn.

“Molly said it was a black-haired Elf with blue eyes,” said Sirius, his teeth gritted.

“A _nolvor,”_ Iliwynn breathed.

“You’re goddamned straight, a _nolvor,”_ Wade agreed roughly. “There’s only one nolvor in Ylle Thalas I know of who’s got an axe to grind with my daughter, Iliwynn. And that’s not all,” he added, cutting his gaze sidelong to her. “Rane _turned,_ Iliwynn, right there at Grimmauld Place, when she was down deep in it and sicking it up. It was bad. Most of the Order was downstairs, they all could have been killed easy. If Sirius here hadn’t Stunned her as quick as he did . . .”

He shook his head, looking frightened despite himself. Sirius felt a flash of unease at the recollection, himself. He had woken in the small hours, roused by Rane’s absence, and had sat up, looking for her, but he needn’t have looked long; she was standing in the center of his bedroom, clad only in shorts and a tank. She had been facing away from him, staring towards the window, where the scant stars were visible in the clear sky. Her hair had been floating in a strange cloud about her head, like that of a woman floating underwater.

 _Rane?_ He had said softly

She had turned slowly, fluidly, the motion somehow alien. Sirius had realized after a moment that her feet were no longer touching the ground. When her face came into view, Sirius had leapt from the bed in a rush, scattering their blankets, and backed against the wall, his mouth hanging open. Her eyes had been glowing bright blue.

 _Rane_ -

And then she had risen, both hands floating at her sides, and his bedroom had become a sudden, violent cyclone of his possessions. She had continued to stare at him, her eyes glowing white-hot, her hair whipping about her.

_RANE!_

She had lifted her chin at him almost lazily, and he had gone tumbling out of the doorway as he tried to stand against the power beating against him. Wade had appeared in the doorway then, his hair flying about his face, staring at his daughter hovering near the ceiling, the bright blueish-white light emanating from her throwing his face into sharp contrast. He looked nakedly scared.

 _Stun her_ , he had said sharply. _Quick_ \- !

Sirius had drawn his wand, feeling the floorboards rumbling beneath them, fully aware that the whole house would come down in moments and his Godson, along with a dozen others, would be likely killed. In the critical moment his wand had gone flying out of his hand, landing near the corridor with a clatter. Wade had lifted his own wand towards his daughter, but with a lazy jerk of her head Sirius’s bed had shot towards him in a rush of scraping wood, pinning him against the far wall. The ear-ringing power, soundless but deafening, was beating out all sound now, the rushing, inarticulate roar something like standing twenty feet from the engines of a 747. Wade was shouting something Sirius couldn’t hear, but he knew well enough what Wade was saying: _Stun her, Stun her_.

Rane was speaking now, saying something in a language that he didn’t understand, and each syllable sent a tremor through the floorboards. There were nails and chunks of wood clattering down from the ceiling now.

He’d clambered against the rushing power that was throwing him off his feet and snatched his wand up at last, and he’d done it with perhaps moments to spare, knowing well enough from the last time he’d seen Rane do this that there was nothing else for it, and she’d collapsed into a heap on the floor at once while his possessions clattered down around her.

“Wonder she didn’t bring the whole house down, she trashed most of the upstairs,” Wade was saying roughly. “So this happy son of a bitch would have been responsible not only for taking out my only kid and two or three dozen witches and wizards who don‘t know him from Adam, he would have also cleared the way nice and pretty for Voldemort, too. What do you think about that?”

Iliwynn turned her eyes to Lordran, who was staring at her with something like religious terror, his eyes round, his mouth drawn down.

“Lordran Telethtyr,” she said, very quiet. “Explain yourself.”

Lordran’s mouth opened and closed for a few seconds, fish-like, his hands curled into claws against the stone-flagged path he had been thrown upon. A small trickle of bright red blood oozed from beneath his hairline.

“My lady,” he said at last, sounding preposterously decorous, “I had no choice. My loyalty lies with my kinsmen.”

“Your kinsmen,” said Iliwynn, “are Elven-blooded. And Rane is among us.”

“RANE IS A PEREDHIL!” Lordran suddenly shouted, his voice rising almost to a scream. His face was crimson; a vein beat steadily in his forehead. “SHE IS A BLASPHEMY TO OUR PEOPLE! SHE IS A TRAVESTY OF NATURE!”

“Enough,” said Iliwynn shortly. She sheathed her sword in a single, smooth motion, keeping her eyes on Lordran, who was staring back at her, breathing quickly. “If this is true, it is treasonous sedition.”

“NO!”

“I will call upon the Order of the Phoenix and speak to our allies,” said Iliwynn, just as if he had not spoken. She gestured towards Lordran almost lazily, looking away from him as if he were something small and vaguely revolting, perhaps an insect. _“Lo’myadros.”_

At this, all four guards rushed forward towards Lordran at once. There was a scuffle in which only Lordran’s boots were visible, kicking against the stones in protest, and then his arms were bound behind his back. One of the guards had relieved him of his sword and held it loosely in one hand.

“Take him.”

The five of them moved out at once. Lordran cast a baleful look over his shoulder towards Sirius and Wade, neither of whom had lowered their wands, and then the cadre of Elves had vanished behind a pair of double doors, the clacking of their boot heels fading.

“What will happen to him?” Sirius asked, pocketing his wand at last and staring after them. “Will he . . . ?”

“Die?”

Sirius glanced at Iliwynn, who was following his gaze, her face quite blank.

“Yes,” she said. “Mayhap he shall.”

“Blimey,” said Sirius in spite of himself.

Iliwynn glanced at him at last, looking mildly surprised. “He would see your wife dead and your firstborn with her, so you say,” she said softly. “Do you feel pity for such as him?”

Sirius shook his head at once, not bothering to correct her. “No.”

“Take me with you to your headquarters, _Undunai,”_ Iliwynn said, glancing at Wade. “Now.”

“She’s in a bad way,” Wade told her earnestly.

“I care not,” Iliwynn responded loftily. “I wish to speak to those who met Lordran, for his fate must be decided this night. And I wish to see Rane.”

She lowered her head for a moment, her blue eyes bright.

“I must make my penance,” she added quietly. “For all of Elyfalume. For this is a terrible treachery.”

Wade looked at her a moment longer. Sirius thought that he would have liked nothing more than to reach out and grasp her hand, perhaps embrace her. But every formality of Elvenhood seemed to speak against this, and Wade made no motion to do either.

“Well, I hope magic suits you, then,” Wade said at last, extending his forearm between the three of them.

AS Lordran was being led away in Elyfalume, Rane, who had spent the past hour staring out the window expressionlessly, was finally climbing back into bed at headquarters. She had ceased to worry about her father and Sirius at Ylle Thalas; every instinct in her assured her they were not only safe but would be back soon, and she was confident enough in her essential Elvishness to trust herself on this one. What was more, Molly had retired to fix something to eat for Mad-Eye and Arthur, the only other tenants this evening, and Rane was at last afforded a moment of solitude, lying beneath the heavy comforter and looking up at the high ceiling above her.

There were days - weeks, sometimes - when she didn’t give a thought to her strange affliction at all. It had become much like a sort of abstract, gauche alter-ego that she kept tucked away unless circumstance obliged its exposure, and circumstance rarely did. She knew that she possessed certain abilities, that she could call upon these powers if she wished (and indeed, they often manifested quite without her permission), but the concept of them remained oddly shapeless to her. Nor was she alone in this. Indeed, she believed no one, not even Iliwynn, fully grasped the potency of it.

As she had stared out at the Black courtyard, where she felt certain Sirius and Regulus had spent hours playing as any young brothers did, perhaps lorded over by Kreacher’s grim, watchful eye, it had occurred to her that she did remember destroying Sirius’s bedroom. Some of it, anyway. It wasn’t an ordinary memory, however; it was almost as if she’d been across the room, watching herself, not helpless but not interested in interfering with these goings-on in the very least. She could picture, with increasing clarity, the way her brows had drawn down over her glowing eyes, the way her fists had clenched at her sides, the way she had levitated like a fakir towards the weirdly high ceiling of Sirius’s room. She could picture her father, who she’d trapped behind Sirius’s bed when he’d tried to cast a spell at her, sending the whole works flying at him with the merest flick of her chin. She could see Sirius somersaulting out of the doorway in the violent gusts she was giving off, his arms askew, she could see the sharp, frightened, concentrated expression on his face as he slid to a stop, his fingernails digging into the wooden floorboards, aiming his wand at her awkwardly.

Mostly, however, she remembered the sheer pleasure.

Rane didn’t know much about the Black Tongue; it was strictly verboten amongst Elvenkind, those who discussed it did so at their peril and her father was no different. What she did know was that it was from a time long since passed, before Elves or Men or likely anything else was running around. Rane knew only that it derived of the world of Ea, a dark realm of the dead guarded by Mandos; the Black Tongue was wrought to keep the legions at bay, and to destroy those who opposed Mandos. No earthly being could speak it, or so the legends went. But the _Ainur_ could. And according to all the antediluvian texts that postulated a Peredhil, that was what Rane was, in one weird way or another.

She shifted in the four-poster, uncomfortable with the recollection of the strange words that had come out of her mouth. None of them were anything she could have recreated, not in a hundred years; they seemed almost like living things and not words at all, ripped out of the very air around her. Speaking it had been pleasurable, the way scratching a hard-to-reach itch was pleasurable, and that had frightened her more than she cared to admit. She had spent so long fearing this raw power she possessed, but never had she imagined that she could shape that power into words, words that could make things happen. The poisoned carafe had sent her higher, human mind away for a spell and allowed her base, animal brain to take over, and the transition had been all the easier for it. And all that time, she had felt not only safe, enveloped within that shell of energy; she had felt untouchable, and her child with her. Untouchable but hostile, and dangerous, like a shark swimming lazily amongst her prey, able to take whatever she wished to whenever it pleased her to do so; flee though they might, she was faster, and stronger, and she knew it.

Was there a single reason in all the world why she hadn’t simply lifted one lazy hand out at Sirius and her father and exploded them both into ash and bone? She thought the only reason was that beneath that humming energy, she - Rane - had still been in some form of control, holding back against such a thing. It could have been done, and easily, of that she had no doubt; she could have exploded 12 Grimmauld Place into a smoldering pile of rubble and incinerated everyone within it, risen into the cool air and flown away. She could have, but she didn’t, because Sirius was like an anchor in her mind. She would never have uttered such a thing aloud - indeed, even the thought, half-formed in her mind, made her cross her arms over her chest tightly in horror - but it was true. He was enough to keep her on the earth, enough to keep that vast power at bay, and would he ever know the absolute sway he held over her heart, that he could single-handedly stop such a force of nature from running rampant in all directions like a petrol explosion? Rane didn’t know, but she doubted it.

And what was more, summoning that power had been easier than she would have ever imagined - easier by far, she felt sure, than it had been in the times before - and dismissing it had been proportionally difficult. Some of it had been simply that she was poisoned, of course - like any immune system will attack its assailants, her peculiar subterranean self had leapt to the fore to protect her, all instinct and dire enmity. The idea that she could cause not only harm but devastation with that power had occurred to her not as a probability but as an absolute guarantee. And Sirius’s bedroom? A drop in the bucket, in the grand scheme of things. A single raindrop before the might of the storm.

Rane turned over in the four-poster, hearing the rusty springs shuffle beneath her, and stared out the window at the dark sky, lying on her side with both hands clasped at her collarbone. Stars flickered lazily here and there, but there was no moon visible; perhaps Lupin was safely within the precinct of his lunar cycle, after all. A thumping bass was audible somewhere nearby, accompanied by faint shouting.

The most frightening part about all of it was the sense that the _Peredhil_ wasn’t her at all, exactly . . . It was as if it was a separate entity that existed within her, with completely different attributes. This divergence was unmistakable to Rane if to no one else, for her own unique characteristics were famously familiar to her. She was a dark-haired girl with her father’s full lips and proclivity for curse words, her mother’s thick eyebrows and long legs, a penchant for curse words, a proclivity for nature, an aptitude for solitude and a violently unrelenting work ethic. Still, at the end of the day, she was just a girl. The _Peredhil_ wasn’t a girl. The _Peredhil_ was . . .

 _An animal_ , she thought abruptly, and it seemed exactly accurate. _The_ Peredhil _is like an animal. An ethereal creature as instinctive and unpredictable - as dangerous - as any wild thing._

And aside from everything, the counterpoint to the undeniable beauty and grace of its nature was the reality of this dreadfully strong, calamitous power that came not from within Rane but through her, like sunlight cascading through a magnifying glass, whetted into a deadly fine laser-point of pure catastrophic energy. She felt that in spite of everything, she had not even begun to tap into the potential of that power . . . And more, she felt that it could be used at her absolute whim, to whatever ends she pleased. To create . . . To influence . . . Even to destroy. If she wished it, she sensed she could destroy everything.

This notion brought a tingling, icy gratification into her, lifting her skin into gooseflesh. She saw scores beneath her, fleeing, awed, and above them, lined in flames against a sooty sky, she stood alone, terrible in her beauty and her might.

She pushed the thought away, repulsed and frightened by herself, squeezing her eyes shut against the reality of this impulsion. No, she didn’t wish to hurt anyone, to rain destruction down upon the heads of strangers . . . It wasn’t in her nature to wish such a thing upon anyone.

And yet . . . still . . . The option, alluring in its potency, remained.

 _Something is happening to me_ , Rane thought nervously.

Her last thought, as sleep swooped down upon her at last, was a fervent, almost childlike entreaty she sent up into the cosmos.

 _As long as I never hurt Sirius. As long as he’s alright, I’ll be alright, too. Please, never Sirius. Never, never, never_.


	20. The Order Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade, Sirius and Iliwynn meet at Grimmauld Place to discuss the events of the night of Rane's poisoning. Sirius is dismayed at the lack of faith his companions have in her.

That Spring evening found Molly, Arthur and Mad-Eye sitting around the dining table sipping on bowls of chili in grim silence save the clinking of their cutlery. Molly had no doubt that they were all pondering the same things: Wade and Sirius, away with the Elves confronting Rane’s attacker, and Rane herself, upstairs alone. Molly had left her at last when she’d slipped into an uneasy sleep, her breathing becoming slow and regular, both hands resting on her belly almost protectively.

Molly had made enough for the three of them plus Rane. Rane‘s small portion remained in the cauldron, but she rather didn’t think they would be seeing the likes of her downstairs until at least the morning. She had seemed so morose after Sirius and Wade had left, so completely ashamed. Molly knew at least a small part of it was her own reaction to Rane’s . . . Whatever-it-was. Episode. She’d come running upstairs in her housecoat, drawn by the sudden noise mostly (and there had been something else, some hair-raising energy that seemed to envelope the very air around her like static, making her flesh break out in Goosebumps). She’d been tailed by most of the rest of them from downstairs, all roused by the rumbling of the floorboards - Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, Harry and Hermione at the fore, of course, followed closely by Remus and Tonks, and finally Bill, Kingsley and - panting, with his wand drawn - Mad-Eye.

They’d crowded in the doorway of Sirius’s room, peering over one another’s heads at the wreck within. And what a wreck it was: Wade, shoving the heavy bed frame away from him laboriously; Sirius, sitting in a huddle near the entrance, his wand still held aloft and trembling, breathing hard; the wallpaper peeling off in curious spiraling reams as if from sudden exposure to heat; Sirius’s robes and bedthings smoldering on the floor, sending up acrid trails of smoke. His possessions were strewn about everywhere.

In the center of all this, a perfect nucleus to her disaster, was Rane, freshly Stunned, her legs crumpled beneath her on the hardwood, her hands palm-up at her sides, her hair pooled around her head. Her lips were slightly parted and she looked very unwell indeed, even aside from being unconscious; her face was pasty and her thin chest was rising and falling with reedy, unnatural rapidity. Her bruised-looking eyelids were fluttering minutely as if she were in the throes of a nightmare.

 _What_ _the_ \- ? Bill had begun incredulously, but Wade had leveled a finger at him.

 _Help me get her downstairs_ , he had said, suffering no argument. _Now._

And that had been all the explanation any of them had gotten, until Wade and Sirius had appeared in the living room after putting Rane to bed. The lot of them had been clustered around the dining table, waiting, staring around at one another anxiously. By then the horizon had begun to lighten to bluish-pink, but none of them had looked sleepy. Hermione held Crookshanks on her lap, stroking him absently and staring into the distance. Kingsley was pacing back and forth beside the table, his hands clasped behind his back.

Sirius had collapsed into a chair, rubbing his forehead. There was a long, yellowish bruise rising on one cheek. He looked ashen. Wade had been close behind him.

 _Well?_ Kingsley had said.

_Well, what?_

_Well, an explanation would be nice, mate_ , said Bill, sounding as bewildered and dismayed as Kingsley did. _Your daughter just demolished half the second floor, Wade, and from the looks of it she meant to do you and Sirius in, too -_

Wade sighed, hooking his fingers into his belt and looking irritated.

 _She couldn‘t help it,_ he said shortly. He had been cuffed about the face with something in the whirlwind of Sirius’s belongings, and a raw-looking mark cut across one scruffy cheek, already beginning to purple. _I think she’s sick with something or it would never have happened._

 _What d’you_ mean, _she couldn’t help it?_ said Kingsley.

 _She’s_ _a_ Peredhil, said Wade shortly. He’d looked more than just irritated; he’d looked frightened. Almost panicked. _A half-Elf. And right now, Kingsley, to be perfectly honest, I don’t feel like going over the minutiae of what that means. It‘s damn near dawn, what I feel like doing is going back to bed._

This bewilderingly aggressive pronouncement had been met with a beat of perfect silence.

 _Blimey,_ said Fred at length, _never heard of_ Peredhils _before. You, George?_

George had shaken his head, looking mystified. Sirius had half-expected Hermione to pipe up on the subject, but she remained silent, watching this exchange with a troubled expression.

Kingsley shook his head, rubbing his face. _This is not good._

 _Look, this is barmy, it‘s_ Rane _,_ said Tonks, looking around. She’d been sitting silently next to Remus, looking as guilty as he did. They had, after all, witnessed Rane in the woods outside Ylle Thalas.

 _Well, be it Rane or Cornelius Fudge or Eldritch bloody Diggory_ , Mad-Eye grumbled, _Order ought to have known, Wade, and judging by the looks of you two, I’d wager you knew all along she might do something like this, if she hasn’t already._

Sirius and Remus had exchanged a brief glance at this.

 _It’s not her fault_ , Wade snapped waspishly. _That’s my_ daughter, _Alastor_ -

_If she’s dangerous that’s Order business -_

_She’s not dangerous, she’s sick_ , Wade cut across him brusquely, not looking at Mad-Eye. _Something is fucky here, damned if I know what -_

 _You got that bit right!_ said Mad-Eye, gesturing with one gnarled hand towards the ceiling. _Half our headquarters’ve been demolished -!_

 _Alastor, I just told you, she’s_ sick! Wade had snapped, his voice _sharp._  
  
_Sick?_ said Harry. _With what? What makes somebody so sick they do that?_

Sirius saw Wade cast a decidedly cool glance towards his Godson, and knew a moment of circumspective irritation. Wade was being even more pigheaded about what just happened than Sirius himself was, and that was quite a feat.

 _We can all have a proper talk about it at the meeting_ , said Wade, still sounding quite brusque and avoiding Harry’s eyes. He was prodding his face along the redness, wincing. _Dumbledore’ll explain._

“. . . really don’t think she’ll be hungry,” Arthur was saying.

Molly looked over at him, startled out of her reverie. “Sorry, dear?”

“I said, I dunno that Rane will want any stew,” Arthur repeated. “Mad-Eye ought to polish it off, if he’s peckish.”

Molly turned her eyes to Mad-Eye, who had gotten to his feet and was standing with his empty bowl in his hand, looking at her expectantly, his magical eye swiveling hither and yon.

“What of the meeting, then?” asked Molly, not really knowing why she was saying this at all. There was scarcely enough for barely-there-at-all Rane Roth, let alone the whole of the Order of the Phoenix. Moreover, she was far too distracted to care one way or another.

“It’s too late regardless, they’ll be up for ale and little else knowing them, dear,” Arthur said.

“If you aren’t aggrieved of it, ‘course,” Mad-Eye mumbled gruffly.

Molly blinked. “Go right ahead, Alastor, not at all.”

Arthur watched Molly carefully over the rim of his teacup as Mad-Eye trumped off into the kitchen with his mismatched cadence.

“You managing, love?” he said quietly.

She looked up at him, surprised, and offered him a wan smile.

“Yes, yes,” she said absently. “Really, I am. Just . . . Oh, I’m terribly worried about the lot of them, Arthur. Rane, especially.”

She shook her head, her smile fading, looking at her husband frankly.

“I feel that something . . . _awful_ might happen, dear,” she murmured. “I can’t explain it, but it feels ever so real -”

Arthur reached across the table and grasped her wrist lightly. “Don’t let your mind run away with you, Molly,” he told her gently. “You’ve not got it in you to mother the lot of the Order, you know, try though you might.”

Molly smiled wanly. “Well, it’s not on purpose.”

“Yes, well,” said Arthur, smirking. “S’pose it’s instinct after our litter, then . . .”

Molly laughed outright at this, and in the space of a second the mist of disquiet that had enveloped her was whisked away like dandelion fluff. In a moment she had forgotten it.

“The lot of them shall be arriving soon, I expect,” she said, getting to her feet briskly. “I suppose I ought to get a flagon or two ready, shall I?”

“Sirius’ll be pleased, anyway,” Arthur remarked, smiling.

Molly looked over at him, her own smile fading. “Do you think he and Wade will be back in time for the -?”

“’Course they will,” said Mad-Eye, who was reentering the dining room with a freshly filled bowl of chili. He sat down heavily with a grunt. “Wouldn’t miss this one for a thousand Galleons, I reckon.”

“Of course, of course,” said Molly, striding into the kitchen, frowning.

THE Order had all but arrived within thirty minutes of Mad-Eye polishing off the chili, nearly an hour early, and it was clear they all were as anxious to begin as Molly was. Only Dumbledore was absent by the time the sun had set; Remus, Bill, Tonks, Kingsley and Mundungus Fletcher were hovering near their seats, speaking in low voices. Mad-Eye was muttering to Arthur quietly, his magical eye whizzing about, taking frequent sips from his flask. After a few moments of uneasy chatter, they began to seat themselves, all of them looking edgy.

“D’you reckon they’ll be here soon?” said Tonks, glancing around. She was gripping a mug of wine. “Thought for sure they’d be here by now . . .”

“Hav’ee ever known Wade Roth to be on time for _anyfink?”_ Dung asked, smirking around his own mug.

Remus glanced at him, dismayed, but before he could answer, there was a loud POP in the livingroom. The table tensed at once.

“Wade, Sirius, is that you?” Arthur called, brows furrowed.

Wade and Sirius striding into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, looking grim, filthy and sweaty, turned out not to be the most startling bit of the evening after all; rather, it was the sight of the Elven woman striding at their heels that did the job. Standing at the sides of her companions, she seemed tall, stately and impossibly beautiful, as well as fantastically out of place. Her very presence, as usual, seemed to suck the breath out of the very room, and for a moment everyone simply gaped at her.

 _“Iliwynn!”_ said Remus at last, sounding utterly bewildered. “What -?”

“This is Iliwynn Talaeos,” said Wade, looking around. “She’s the leader of the Elyfalumian Elves. Iliwynn, this is Molly and Arthur Weasley, Order members . . . their son Bill and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Aurors with me at the Ministry . . . and Mundungus Fletcher, our pet felon -”

“Oy!”

“- And you know Mad-Eye and Tonks, and Remus, of course,” Wade finished, ignoring Dung.

“Hello, Iliwynn!” Tonks said, sounding absurdly bright.

Mad-Eye rose and bowed gracelessly over his mug, a gesture Sirius, for one, had never seen before. His face was transported. “Pleasure, Iliwynn, just a _pleasure_ to see you again, ma’am -”

Iliwynn bowed to them, smiling. “A star shines on our meeting, friends.”

A ringing silence met this; everyone was gawking, wordless. Mad-Eye, Remus and Tonks had all met Iliwynn, of course, but Bill, Kingsley, Molly and Arthur looked completely perplexed.

“Charmed, love,” said Dung, tapping his brow and tipping Iliwynn a rather lecherous wink. Molly shot him a dirty look.

“And what can we do for you?” said Kingsley, folding his arms. His eyes cut to Wade briefly. “Are you -?”

“She’s come to see Rane and sit in on the meeting,” said Wade. Sirius had taken a seat at the table already.

“Dumbledore’ll want to know if we’re bringing in -” Arthur began dubiously.

“He will, indeed,” said a voice behind them. Dumbledore himself was striding in behind Wade and Sirius. He touched Iliwynn’s arm lightly. “My friends, rest assured that as far as I am concerned, this lady will always be welcome amongst us.”

“Thank you, Albus,” said Iliwynn graciously, inclining her head.

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Dumbledore asked her, grasping her hand lightly in both of his own.

“The fate of one of my kin must be decided tonight,” said Iliwynn. “I must gather what information I can from your friends for the attempt on Rane’s life that took place here. And make my penance for what was a . . . a hateful betrayal.” She averted her eyes.

“And I have no doubt that they will be delighted to help,” Dumbledore said, nodding briskly. “Shall we begin?”

The rest of the Order seemed considerably less comfortable with this unexpected guest, in any case; Kingsley in particular was eyeing Iliwynn with distrust.

“Er - you represent the Elves, do you?” said Bill haltingly.

“I do,” said Iliwynn.

“And - er -” Bill looked from Iliwynn to Wade to Dumbledore. “They’re - er, we’re all -?”

“The Elves are our allies,” said Wade. “She’s a friend, Bill.”

Bill nodded, still looking uncertain.

“Dumbledore, this is highly irregular,” Kingsley murmured. He had not taken his eyes from Iliwynn. “We’ve never had a -”

“The time to shun our allies is past us now,” Dumbledore said steadily. “We must unite now, or we shall _all_ fall. I have said this many times, as I’m sure you recall.”

Kingsley looked from Dumbledore Iliwynn. “Very well. If you trust her -”

“I do,” said Dumbledore in earnest. “More so than many mortal men, as a matter of fact.”

Iliwynn cast a fond look his way. “And you have my gratitude, always, Albus.”

“Down to business,” said Dumbledore, taking a seat and steepling his hands smartly before him. The Order were settling into their chairs around him obediently enough. Mundungus had thrown both feet on the table and was watching Dumbledore expectantly, looking quite comfortable. Iliwynn had taken a seat between Wade and Sirius. Remus was stirring a cup of tea mildly.

“To address the elephant in the room, I expect that you all are wondering exactly what happened to the second floor of Grimmauld Place four nights ago,” said Dumbledore calmly.

“We certainly are,” said Mad-Eye gruffly. “Seems we’ve been left out of a few important talks, eh?”

“No one’s been left out of anything,” said Wade. He was slumped in his chair, rubbing his forehead morosely. He looked weary indeed. “It wasn’t an issue before, that’s all.”

“I’d differ if it’s just as well,” Mad-Eye replied a bit brusquely.

“Mate,” said Sirius warningly, speaking for the first time. He was tired, too - done nearly to death, in fact. He wanted badly to go upstairs and climb into bed with Rane, to feel her closeness and rest.

“Sirius, you’re in no position to defend her,” said Mad-Eye roughly. “Girl’s obviously got some dodgy tendencies and you‘ve gone and fallen in love with her like a bloody idiot -!”

“And what if I have?” Sirius snapped.

“Do what you will, mate, but know that nothing clouds your judgment like -!”

“Alastor, Sirius, if you please,” said Dumbledore gently. Mad-Eye sat back, slouched slightly, looking moodily across the table at Sirius. Dumbledore leaned forward, clasping his hands together.

“I must first make it clear to all of us here,” he began slowly, looking pointedly at Mad-Eye, “that when I inducted Rane into the Order of the Phoenix, I did so in full awareness of her situation. I trust her implicitly, and I believe that she would never harm any one of us deliberately, just as Remus would never harm any one of us deliberately, despite the dangers his condition entails.”

Remus, quite unruffled, nodded and raised his teacup slightly.

“While I see where you’re coming from, that’s not to say Remus couldn’t do one of us in if he were of a mind, Dumbledore,” said Arthur haltingly, glancing apologetically at Remus.

“That is precisely true,” Dumbledore agreed.

“So what exactly are we talking about here?” said Tonks. “I mean blimey, I’ve seen what she can do, but I dunno that I understand . . .”

“Nor I,” Molly agreed.

“Wade, we all love Rane, you know we do,” said Tonks, looking at him apologetically. She gestured towards the ceiling. “But . . . Blimey, _that_ was . . . Last night, mate -!”

“And how are we to be sure she won’t do it again?” Kingsley agreed. “We don’t have a litany of hideouts, Wade, this is an important place for the Order. Another night like that and we‘ll be out on the streets, easily . . .”

Wade leaned forward, rolling up his sleeves. He cleared his throat.

“Sirius, how about some beer?” he said.

Sirius complied without hesitation, drawing a mug towards himself as well. Wade took a long draught off his own, shut his eyes for a second, then leaned back, set his mug down with a clang and put his arms behind his head.

 _“Peredhil_ are half-Elves, according to legend,” he said. “None have ever existed except Rane, though, so no one knows quite what they can do.”

“Turns out they can do quite a piece,” said Mad-Eye.

“She can do quite a piece, that’s right,” said Sirius aggressively.

“Right,” said Wade loudly, glaring at Sirius. “Take it easy.”

Sirius sat back.

“They can manipulate reality,” said Wade, looking away from him. “Create and destroy. And that’s all we know.”

“Not all,” said Iliwynn suddenly.

The Order looked at her. She was looking at her hands, which were clasped in her lap.

 _“Peredhil_ are the heralds of the end times,” she said softly.

“The end times?” said Molly, looking worried. “What on earth -?”

“Legend tells that the _Peredhil_ is an _Ainur_ reborn,” Iliwynn went on. “The _Ainur_ are the architects of the cosmos. Their song created us, all of us, men and Elf alike, and all the world’s creatures. That power, within one being . . . “

She shook her head frankly.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know what she can do. But that she could destroy us all, were it her pleasure . . . That I do know. That, I do not doubt.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, broken only by Mundungus, who had fallen asleep and was snoring quietly in the corner.

“I think that’s enough for me,” said Mad-Eye, looking at Dumbledore. “I want her out, Albus. This is a liability for us all.”

“Rane is not a liability,” said Sirius roughly.

“She’s a BLOODY liability, Sirius, and you damn well know it!” Mad-Eye shouted.

“YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW HER!”

“I KNOW ENOUGH!”

 _“Alastor!”_ Dumbledore said loudly. Mad-Eye and Sirius were staring at one another.

“So, just what are we dealing with here?” Molly said. “We haven’t had any questions answered, it took us nearly three hours to put Sirius’s room back together -”

“We don’t know,” said Wade, throwing up his hands. “We honestly don’t know.”

“What we do know,” said Iliwynn, “is that she is powerful. And like anyone, she can sometimes lose control.”

“I love Rane like anyone does, but . . . Well, is this a risk we’re willing to take, Albus?” said Molly hesitantly, looking at Dumbledore, her lips pursed. “Is it _safe?_ Safe to have her here? _"_

Dumbledore placed his long fingers on his temples for a moment, looking extraordinarily tired.

“I do not know, Molly, to be frank,” he said at last, looking uncharacteristically weary. “But what I do know is that I trust Rane. As well as Wade, and Iliwynn.”

“Perhaps your trust is misfounded,” said Iliwynn haltingly.

Wade looked at he sharply. So did Sirius, his hackles raising at once.

“So you don’t trust Rane?” he snapped.

She turned her bright eyes to him, and Sirius felt his sparking anger falter somewhat beneath her gaze. She was terrible and beautiful, in the same way that the woman he loved was; it was an odd amalgamation, like the grace of a leopard before the strike. The promise of defeating power beneath that loveliness was palpable; in Rane, however, it wasn’t just power. It was lethality.

“Do _you_ trust her, Sirius Black?” she asked him lightly.

The Order was silent, watching this exchange. Sirius looked at her, finding it as always oddly difficult to maintain eye contact. He loved Rane, more than he loved himself. He had never loved anyone more. He had no doubt of that.

But did he _trust_ her? He faltered, contemplating it. Was it simply that he trusted her only insofar that her condition allowed her free reign? That was it, wasn’t it? And after that?

Well, after that, Rane was . . . Well, she was . . .

 _An animal,_ his mind supplied, and he pushed the word away, horrified. But he thought again to that night, seeing her hovering near the ceiling, her glowing eyes fixed upon him, not human in the least, but carnivorous, predatory. Single-minded. _That_ creature had not been prepared to extend mercy to the likes of him, no, never in life; _that_ creature would have extinguished him as easily as he might have squashed an insect, with no more thought and no more sympathy. _That_ creature was dangerous, in ways he still didn't understand. And how did you reconcile those two creatures, after all; the kind, gentle one and the venomous, reptilian one? Were _either_ of them worthy of trust?

“Yes,” he heard himself say. A lie, and not a small one. “I trust her.”

“Sirius,” said Wade softly, not looking at him.

“What?” Sirius snapped.

Wade said nothing, only looked at his hands, his brows furrowed.

“Why wouldn’t I trust Rane?” he asked Wade (and the Order, too, for they were all watching him). “Why wouldn’t I? She’s saved most of our lives more times than we can count. She’s worked for the Order. She’s worked against Voldemort . . . “

“She cannot control what she is,” sand Iliwynn. “Not yet. And until she can, she is . . . She is dangerous, Sirius Black. Dangerous. And by no fault of her own.”

Sirius scoffed. He looked around him, his brows drawn.

“It’s _Rane,”_ he said. Quiet, and desperate. But the faces that met his offered no penance. They had seen what she’d done, and that was that.

“And _you?”_ he said, jerking his head at Wade. “That’s your daughter, Wade.”

Wade met Sirius’s eyes briefly, then hung his head, shaking it gently, one hand running through his hair. “She’s right, Sirius, we need to be careful,” he said, very low.

“You may love her as you will,” said Iliwynn, her voice dark, “but you are a fool to trust her, Sirius.”

Sirius got up abruptly, his chair squealing and clattering beneath him,

“I’ve heard enough,” he said brusquely. He hesitated, then added, “Shame. On all of you.“

And, without waiting for anyone to contradict this announcement, he strode off out the dining room and upstairs, his mouth turned down at the corners, his heart thudding unpleasantly against his chest.

No one called him back.

RANE was asleep in the bed she’d been fostered, her legs curled up to her chest, her dark hair spread beneath her. Sirius strode to her bed, stopped abruptly and looked down at her, his fists clenched at his sides, the room around them dark.

There she lay, a creature neither here nor there. Her hands were clasped between her breasts, her lips relaxed into a gentle frown. Her dark brows were contracted above her eyelids, which were trembling gently, as they always did when she slept. Sirius, who had lay awake many nights looking at her as she slept with the eyes of a lover, had found himself sometimes wondering what she was dreaming about. Now, as he stood above her, frowning in the shadows, he thought maybe she wasn’t dreaming at all. Maybe she was controlling whatever it was she had. Maybe her subconscious was keeping it in check. Maybe with all her strength.

He felt his skin break out in gooseflesh, and he rubbed at his forearms uncertainly.

Beneath him, Rane stirred in her sleep. Her even brow was furrowed, and one of her hands clutched at a strand of her dark hair, tugging gently. Sirius felt a sudden, powerful surge of love for her, and his fear was washed away at once. She wasn’t a predator, she was just . . . Just a victim of circumstance. Just a woman.

He was undone. He pulled his shirt over his head roughly, not bothering to shut the door, and climbed into bed with her. She moved over slightly as if upon instinct, and when he put his arms around her and entwined his legs with hers, she moaned gently in her sleep in what Sirius was certain was pleasure.

This, he thought as he rested his chin on her shoulder, was who she was. A woman. And he loved her. He felt it in his stomach, in the center of his chest; he loved her more than anything.

And nothing, not even a goddamned Elven prophecy, was going to change that.

They slept together in silence, their breathing gentle. And in the wee hours of the morning, Rane’s eyes snapped open for a moment, staring around her like a lion in the night.

They were bright, glowing blue.

Then they closed, and her fingers tightened around Sirius’s at her chest.


	21. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Dumbledore share a brief chat about the Ministry's interference at Hogwarts and Rane's instability

  
Wade Roth is sitting alone on the porch after the Order meeting, stroking his grizzled cheek with one hand and gripping the arm of his chair cock-elbowed, when the door slides open and Dumbledore steps out into the humid evening. Wade doesn’t need to turn to know it’s him; even if he hadn’t been an Elf, he’d known Albus since he was a young Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts, not wizened and gray but spry and smooth-faced, with an untidy auburn beard that would serve as pioneer to the waist-length, ornately knotted one the Hogwarts headmaster sported. The very sound of his footsteps is intimately familiar to Wade after so many long years.

“May I?” Albus asks him, shutting the door behind him.

Wade gestures to the steel chair at his side (the very same one where his daughter had sat the first night she’d kissed Sirius Black, had he but known.) Albus politely takes a seat, crossing his legs and looking quite comfortable in spite of the heavy, cool air around them. Spring brings no warmth to London this evening, but the wet feel of a recent storm hangs around them, leaden and damp.

Albus glances sidelong at his companion. “I believe a storm may be on the way. What do you think?”

“Dunno.”

“You’re quite sure?”

Wade sighs. “Albus, I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, _come,_ now.” Dumbledore’s voice is lightly chiding. “Indulge me, won‘t you?”

Wade lifts his head, seeming to scent the air like a stag. He remains this way for a moment, his eyes half-closed, very still, breathing deeply.

“Nah,” he says at last, sinking back into his chair. “Not tonight. Next week, maybe.”

Albus sits back as well, looking delighted. “Forgive me, Wade, but it never fails to amuse me.”

“No, forgive _me_ ; just not in much of a parlor trick mood, weird as it seems.” Wade leans forward, clasping his hands beneath his knees. One of his boots is tapping agitatedly against the stone, his knee jigging and jagging up and down. He looks anxious.

"Will you stay at Headquarters, you think?" Wade says, looking over at him.

It's Albus's turn to sigh. "Perhaps," he says. "I have work to do. Much work."

Dolores Umbridge and Cornelius Fudge had at last run Albus from Hogwarts, something they'd discussed at the meeting at great length. The school was a cesspool of turmoil, that much was clear.

"I suspect you may face an interrogation upon your return to the Auror's Office, I am afraid," Albus says regretfully.

Wade snorts sardonically. "Let it be a tribunal for all I care. You've got nothing to worry about here."

Albus smirks. "No, I expect Elves are made of sterner stuff."

"What about Severus?"

"Severus, as you know, is very capable of taking care of himself." Albus strokes his beard thoughtfully. "In fact, I am most grateful that he has avoided gratuitous attention. He has been most useful. It comforts me to learn of the circumstances at Hogwarts even though I am helpless to help. I do worry for my pupils, Wade."

Wade places a hand on his shoulder bracingly.

"You won't let them put you away in Azkaban, right? You'll look after yourself? The Order would be a mess if you were arrested, Albus . . ."

"If there is one thing I excel at, it is evading the Ministry of Magic when it suits me to do so," Albus replies without modesty, looking quite unabashed. "In any case, there is no permanence in this move; Cornelius has become careless in his desperation. If we can but keep Sirius from reaching out to Harry Potter for a few short weeks, I believe the situation will resolve itself."

Wade nods. "I think he's got one foot out the door," he remarks. "The Wizengamot won't abide by it forever."

Albus nods as well, saying nothing.

“What do you think about all this?” Wade says at length, his voice uncharacteristically diffident.

Albus looks around him, his eyes twinkling. “I think that my petunias would relish a good rainfall.”

Wade glances sideways at him, unsmiling. “This is a pretty big deal. She’s never done anything like that before, Albus.”

“Do you believe she may be gaining more control?” Albus asks softly. He’s looking back at Wade now, and Wade realizes that Albus is just as alarmed as he is, despite his jesting. “That this may be some kind of . . . Metamorphosis, perhaps?”

“I can’t even begin to speculate on that,” Wade replies, shaking his head. “And really, it doesn’t matter. Mad-Eye has a point. I hate to admit it, I hate it, but it’s gotten much more frequent . . . First Ylle Thalas, now this. She could have killed Sirius and me, neat as you please. Wouldn’t have even been a mess. The place could have burned down. Albus, I just . . .”

He lowers his head, his shoulders hunched over his quivering knee, and scrabbles at his scalp, sighing. Across the Black grounds, there are fireflies appearing now, tiny ember-glows in the humid dark. Their faint lights reflect on the strands of Wade’s blond hair, wavering between his fingers in the breeze.

“Iliwynn seems to feel it would be unwise to place our trust in her,” said Albus.

“Yes,” says Wade, “and I’ve never known her to make a bad call.”

“So you agree?”

Wade shakes his head firmly, zero hesitation. “No, I do not.”

“Oh?” Albus inclines his head slightly at his companion. “You do not agree with the leader of your people, Wade?”

Wade snorts, looking at him. His blue eyes are bright in the starlight. “Do you trust the leader of _your_ people, Albus?” he asks sardonically.

“No further than I could throw him,” Albus admits, smiling. “Which I expect is not very far at all these days.”

“Iliwynn can say Rane’s too dangerous to be kept around all day long. That doesn’t necessarily make it so. She’s an Elf, after everything; she loves Rane, has since she was just a girl, but her loyalty lies with her kin. Always with her kin, above everything.” He rubs his face, the rasping sound his hand makes against his cheek loud in the silence. “She has to, it’s in her blood.”

Albus clasps his hands together before him. He is staring into the night sky, which is dotted with stars despite the humidity.

“Are you thinking of kicking her out?” Wade asks frankly. “It’s down to you, after all. It wouldn’t be right for me to weigh in.”

Albus sighs. “I would be lying if I said it had not crossed my mind,” he says softly.

Wade sighs roughly. His knee is still going a mile a minute.

“And what are your thoughts?” he says softly.

Albus places one long-fingered hand on his companion’s shoulder. The muscles there are tense, but he squeezes gently, reassuringly.

“Wade, Rane is a very special young lady,” he says gently. “And she is an asset to our organization. I have it on good authority that Voldemort sees her as a threat as well.”

Wade looks at Albus, startled, his trembling knee at last stilling.

 _“Really.”_ He sounds very interested, indeed. "Good authority, eh?"

“Very good authority,” says Albus. “He feels she is a threat to his movement.”

“Why, in the world?”

Albus chortles. “Tom was never terribly fond of the Elves, was he? They seemed to put him on edge, even when he was a student.”

Wade knows this from the years he’s served the Ministry as an Auror. Voldemort had always kept the Elves at arm’s length. He’d suspected that their prowess in battle was what it was that put him off, but now he found himself reconsidering.

“Can we use that?” he asks musingly.

Albus shrugs, running his fingers gently through his beard. “I cannot imagine how.”

“So you want her out, then.”

Albus looks over at him. He leans forward, steepling his fingers before his mouth, his brows drawn.

“Let us speak frankly, Wade,” he says softly. “May we?”

Wade shrugs, gesturing with one hand.

“I wish Rane to remain in the Order of the Phoenix,” Albus says. Wade looses a whistling sigh, allowing his head to dangle between his knees, relieved. “But I also wish to know the nature of what is happening to her, insofar that you can tell me.”

“I have a theory,” Wade tells him. “And that’s all I’ve got, aside from the manuscripts at Ylle Thalas.”

“I should like to hear it.”

“Well.” Wade leans back, crossing his feet, placing both hands behind his neck and staring up at the sky. "Have you noticed how, whenever she has one of her . . . her _episodes,_ she's down for the count afterwards?"

"Every time?"

"For the most part, yeah. The big ones."

"You are referring to Ylle Thalas, when she confronted the Death Eaters in the forest."

"That's a good example, yeah," Wade says. "It's like she's . . . she's burning through her stores. Like she's got a limit. She gets down to half a tank, and maybe it kills off her metabolism for a while, and she has to recharge."

Albus nods, looking intrigued.

"But here's the thing," says Wade. "She's getting stronger. I can see it every time. And the recharge isn't as necessary anymore."

"You believe she is reaching the point where she can continue to use this power without repercussion," Albus supplies.

Wade falls silent for a moment, thinking.

“You have a phoenix, don’t you? Fawkes? He still around?”

“Certainly.” Albus draws his wand from one pocket, examining it in both hands thoughtfully.

“Well, you know how it goes then,” says Wade. “The big buildup, then the fire.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Rane is getting close to burning up,” Wade finishes, low. “Pretty soon she’s gonna go up, that’s what I think. It won’t be pretty. And after, I dunno what we’ll find. Someone else, mayhap.”

He shrugs, looking bleakly into the night.

“Albus, I don’t pretend to understand any of this,” he says softly. “But what I know is that I love my daughter. And I’ll stand by her. I love the Order, but I cannot abide by it if she’s out. And that’s my last word on the thing.”

Albus takes a very deep breath, and then lets it out slowly. Wade remains silent at his side, his eyes turned upwards, his mouth thin. His knee had ceased its restless jittering, but now his left foot was waggling wildly back and forth.

“She stays,” says Albus, rising. “Of course she does. But please, Wade, keep us all on the up and up, won’t you?”

Wade nods, running one hand down his face. “Absolutely.”

“Get some rest, old friend,” says Albus, and grips Wade’s shoulder again tightly. “Tomorrow is another day.


	22. Snape Makes a Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane suspects Kreacher is up to something; the Order receives a strange message from Severus

  
“Kreacher?”

Rane had spoken softly, even courteously; nonetheless, the house elf whipped around as if she’d shouted, his eyes wide, both hands closed into tight fists at his side. Behind him, the fire in the hearth flashed a bright greenish-blue, then dissipated. It was fast - if you blinked, you missed it - but Rane did not blink.

“Kreacher has done nothing,” he said.

“I didn’t say you had,” Rane said, her eyes still on the hearth. The flames there were orange-red and low now, casting amiable shadows across the pitted hardwood floor. She hesitated, then added, “Kreacher, were you talking to someone?”

Kreacher shook his head violently, his batlike ears flapping.

“Was someone in the floo?” She was unpleasantly surprised at the harshness of her voice; she sounded scolding, almost perilous.

Kreacher’s eyes snapped tightly shut for a second, and then they popped back open, as wide and shining as ever they were, innocent and blameless, free of deceit.

“No, madam, not a soul,” he said, a trifle truculently. “Were someone here they’d gone before Kreacher saw, so they did.”

Rane looked at him a moment longer, her dark brows contracted. Her fingers caressed the wooden landing gently.

“You sure?”

Kreacher nodded emphatically, his long ears flopping.

“You wouldn’t lie to me,” said Rane.

“Nary a lie in Kreacher, madam, no,” Kreacher responded earnestly, “Kreacher is honest, isn’t he? Yes, honest to a fault, so says my mistress! I cannot tell a lie, ‘tis against the way of the house elf, so it is.”

“Your mistress is touched in the head,” Rane said before she could stop herself.

Kreacher’s face changed at once. Rage warped it into something ugly. 

“Elf scum such as the likes of you shall not speak her _name!”_ he snapped at her.

Rane remained where she was, halfway down the stairway, her hand resting lightly on the rail. Her eyes were narrow, her mouth drawn, like a brooding predator.

“An Elf such as I may speak as she likes,“ Rane replied. She paused, then added darkly, “you insult my people at your peril.“

Kreacher scowled. He seemed prepared to reply, but instead, he shot her a hostile look and skulked away off into the shadows, his fists clenching and unclenching all the way, murmuring.

Rane watched him go until he was lost in dark.

“What on earth was he on about?” came a casual voice behind her.

Rane turned to find Sirius, shirtless and running his fingers through his hair, striding down the steps and staring off after Kreacher looking goaded . Rane found his desultory irritation suddenly bothersome; he was exasperated at Kreacher, annoyed by his antics, but Rane’s instincts were telling her that annoyance was not the correct response here.

“Why don’t you throw him out, Sirius?” she asked him.

Sirius looked at her with unfeigned surprise. _“Really?”_

Rane looked after Kreacher, saying nothing.

“He knows too much about the Order,” Sirius told her. One of his hands stole out and caressed the small of her back. Rane found herself wanting to stray from his touch in her aggravation. “If we turned him loose he’d be liable to run to Voldemort, surely Dumbledore’s told you that.”

“He has.” She sighed. “I just don’t like him being here, all of a sudden.”

Sirius glanced sidelong at her, feeling a tingle of disquiet.

“No?”

Rane shook her head, silent.

“And not just because he likes to open the windows at night.”

Rane sighed, rubbing her face. She knew that pressing Sirius on the matter wouldn’t do much good at this point; even aside from his levity, he had never taken Kreacher very seriously. More, he was right; turning Kreacher out would do more harm than good. In truth, the thought of him at liberty to roam the country as he liked did even less for her peace of mind than the thought of him staying at Headquarters did. She strode past the base of the stairway and slumped into the nearest armchair.

“He has to stay,” Sirius was saying, following behind her. “Dumbledore won’t let him go. Think about it, Rane . . . He knows about Remus. Bill. Harry. You, me. Believe me, no one wants him here less than me, love.”

Rane sighed, rubbing her face. “I know. It’s just a feeling.”

“Right,” Sirius told her reassuringly. “A feeling. We’ve got plenty enough to be going along with.”

“Aright, alright, fine.” she muttered, conceding. One of her hands reached back and stole around Sirius’s. His fingers closed around hers tightly. “Point taken.”

Sirius lingered behind her, twining his fingers through the ends of her hair lightly. “How are you feeling?”

Rane smiled despite herself. Sirius had taken to asking her this multiple times a day lately. She touched her stomach, which had taken on the merest trace of roundness.  
“Just a little sick, nothing much,” she told him. This was partially true; she spent less mornings hunched over the toilet with her eyes shut and her hair hanging in her sweaty face these days, but there were also other things happening now. For one, the smells of white wine, mincemeat pie and patchouli now made her intensely nauseous. She’d also developed an almost constant, intense lust for collard greens and fried green tomatoes, things she hadn‘t eaten since she’d been a very young girl in the southern United States (indeed, after cooking up a batch of the latter one evening, Sirius had also become rather partial to them, pronouncing them delicious beyond all expectation). All in all, it hadn’t been nearly as difficult as she’d worried it would be. At least so far.

Sirius bent and kissed her temple gently. Rane could feel the heat of his breath and the strength of his grip on her shoulders, and was intensely grateful for him. They stood in silence for a moment, Rane seated and biting her lip pensively, Sirius standing behind her massaging her shoulders gently and staring down at her hairline.

“What was Kreacher up to, anyway?” he asked her.

“I dunno,” she said. “I thought someone had come through the floo, but I guess not, He said he hadn’t seen anyone.”

Sirius glanced towards the fireplace, which was flickering heartily.

“What makes you say that?”

“I thought I saw . . . “ Rane shook her head, rubbing her mouth. She craned her neck to look at Sirius over her shoulder. “Can Kreacher . . . I mean, can house elves lie, Sirius?”

Sirius pondered this, looking off into the distance. Rane could feel him wanting to say no; still, he hesitated.

“Yes,” he said at last, thoughtfully. “I dunno that he would lie to _me,_ at least not outright . . . But to you, or to someone who’s not a part of the family? I think so, yes.”

Rane turned away, still rubbing her mouth. Sirius walked around the chair and knelt before her, taking her hand in both his own and looking up at her.

“Look, I dunno who might have been in the floo, but even if there _had_ been someone, what on earth reason would he have to lie about it?” Sirius asked her.

“I don’t know, but something’s not right, Sirius, something just feels fucky. I don’t know what it is, but Kreacher, just now . . . It just made me feel . . . Wrong -”

“Forget about Kreacher,” said Sirius lightly, taking her by the shoulders. He kissed the corner of her mouth. “He hasn’t got much in the way of wits, he was probably just looking for more of my dad‘s stuff to nick, hoping we’d missed something -”

“I don’t think he‘s stupid.”

“You don’t know him like I do, Rane -”

“No, but I see him, Sirius,” Rane said flatly.

Sirius looked at her in silence for a moment. At length, he nodded.

“Yeah, alright,” he said gently. Rane heard the driving force behind his words - a concession of concord designed to placate - and felt a protest rise to her lips. But in truth, what was she arguing, anyway? There was no tangible reason for the way she felt, really, just intuition, and intuition could be akin shooting at a small, distant, constantly moving target; you were as likely to miss the mark as you were to hit it. Still, the need to argue her point remained, frustrating in its conviction, like a splinter in her mind.

She stood up, strode to the middle of the room, ran her fingers roughly through her hair and stood looking at the fireplace for a moment wordlessly. The firelight before her cast her silhouette into dark contrast; tall, lean, both hands folded at her chest, her legs staggered. After a moment she turned.

Sirius and Rane regarded one another for a moment in silence.

“I love you, Sirius,” said Rane quietly.

‘“I love you too, Rane.”

“Be careful with what happens next.”

The words had left her mouth before they’d fully formed within her mind, surprising her.

Sirius rose. “What?”

Rane wished suddenly and harshly for a cigarette. Instead she sat down on the couch, her hands clasped between her legs, looking up at Sirius beneath her drawn brows.

“I dunno,” she said. “It’s just a feeling.”

Sirius looked at her for a moment, then bent and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s go to bed, love,” he said gently. “Have a lie down, what say you? Before you work yourself into a tizzy over that bloody house elf?”

SHE followed him upstairs, her hand in his trailing behind him, unable to suppress the memory of their first night together, not so very long ago. She found herself soaking in the most infinitesimal details of him like a woman in a haze; the gentle undulation of the wisps of his hair in his motion, the ripple of his robes, the rock of his lean hips as he led her on. The devil, her father sometimes said, was in the details, and the details were what made him real to her in the years that followed. She would remember the curve of his spine as he ascended that evening, the tilt of his shoulders as he sat on the bed they shared. She would remember the spill of his dark hair on his shoulder, the glint of his eyes in the dim light, his smirk, the gleam of his teeth between his lips. The roughness of his hands on hers, the smell of his neck. The flexing of the long muscles in his thighs as he stretched out beneath her; the prickle of his chin as she pressed her mouth on his, the heat of him as he breathed his air into her and she took it and then returned it to him, changed within her. Her mind marked it all, every subtle facet, traced them with the eye of an artist and the mind of a lover.

As he entered her, his hands clutching the firm flesh where her hips joined her waist, she breathed against his shoulder and tasted his sweat. She felt him throbbing inside of her, his essential humanity pulsing with the beat of his heart, and she felt the wetness of his seed within her, already having taken root. Her fingers grasped at his skin, and her mouth found his, somehow desperate and final.

“Sirius, I love you,” she breathed.

Sirius drew back, looking at her with some surprise. His brow was alight with perspiration, his mouth curved into a satisfied smile.

“I love you too,” he said, sounding startled.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well, why do you say it like that?” Sirius said to her, his breath hot on her face.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I want you to know. We don’t know . . . I dunno. We don't know what could happen. Weird times.”

Sirius laughed, trying to sound light, but to Rane it was uneasy. He rolled off of her, alongside her, pulled her to him.

“What are you talking about? We’ve got all the time in the world -”

“I don’t know that and nor do you,’ said Rane quietly. “No one does. We’d be stupid to assume.”

Sirius looked at her a moment longer, the smile fading from his mouth. “That’s a hell of a thing to say, don’t you reckon?”

Rane said nothing. They looked at one another in silence.

“You’ve been acting so strange tonight,” Sirius told her. All the playfulness had gone out of his voice now. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

Rane sat up, looking at him from beneath her hair.

“I have feelings sometimes,” she said. “I’ve got one now.”

“Feelings about what?”

“Just . . .” Rane sighed. “It’s like when you’re standing in the ocean, and right before a wave hits you, if you close your eyes you can feel the water behind you moving towards it. Just before. Like a warning.”

Sirius shook his head. “I’ve never been to the ocean.”

Rane dropped back down again, giving up. “We should sleep,” she said softly. “I want to lay with you. Please.”

Sirius looked at her, looked at the uncharacteristically desperate wretchedness in her face, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He laced his fingers through hers, buried his face in her fragrant hair, intertwined their legs.

“Better?”

Rane didn’t answer; she only sighed deeply, her shoulders going up and then down with its motion. Sirius tightened his grip on her, feeling the quick triphammer of her heartbeat against his palm, and kissed her temple gently.

“Relax,” he said into her ear.

“I can’t,” she replied in a hushed voice. “It feels all fucky, Sirius.”

“Fucky?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean, fucky? Is Kreacher still bothering you? I can have a word with him if you‘d like, find out if there was really someone there -”

Rane shrugged, the gentle motion of her shoulders jutting against Sirius’s chest. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”

“Well . . . Enough feelings for tonight. Relax. Get some sleep.”

Rane desisted, squeezing Sirius’s hand, but the eyes that stared out into the darkened room around them were haunted, reflecting the moon’s dull light. Outside the crickets chirped ever on, heedless.

The sounds of their names roused them from their sleep .

“RANE!”

Sirius sat in bed in silence, his hand on Rane’s side, feeling her gentle breathing. It was not yet midnight; they’d hardly been in bed more than a few hours, maybe less.

“Come on, budge up, you lot!”

Sirius sat up in bed, looking around, his eyes wide.

_“What?!”_

“Come on, up, quickly.”

Their bedroom door was hanging ajar; Tonks stood there, pulling a robe over her jumper. Her eyes were large in the darkness. Next to Sirius, Rane stirred, looking up.

“Tonks, it’s the middle of the night, what -?” Rane began.

“It’s Harry,” said Tonks. “Severus’s just sent word.”

Sirius was on his feet in an instant. “Harry,” he breathed. “What is it, is he -?”

“ARE THOSE LOT AWAKE YET?” Mad-Eye’s voice thundered from downstairs. “HURRY IT UP!”

“Listen, we don’t know exactly but Severus says he’s run off to the Ministry,” Tonks said in a rush, buttoning her cloak. Sirius sucked in a breath, and Rane sat up quickly, her brow furrowed.

 _“Why?”_ she asked.

Tonks shook her head. “Severus didn’t say. Umbridge took him into the Forbidden Forest, but they never came back. He’s searching it now to be sure, but he says he’s almost certain. We’re going to try to find them.”

"How do you know Snape's telling the -" Sirius began.

"Now's not the time," Rane cut him off. She was still looking at Tonks. "Where's Albus?"

"Dunno, but we don't have time to wait for him. They're heading for the Department of Mysteries, you know how dangerous that place is."

Rane did. She and Sirius were both pulling on cloaks now. Rane had yanked a pair of jeans on while Tonks was still in mid-sentence, quite unconcerned about the bystander.

“Who’s here?” she asked.

“Remus, Kingsley and me,” said Tonks. “Sirius, you’re to stay here. Severus was really specific about that bit -”

Sirius barked a laugh at this.

“Like fuck I am,” he said, sweeping past her and thundering off down the stairs.

Tonks looked at Rane, who was pulling her sword’s helm taut at her belt. Rane shrugged.

“He’s not going to stay behind if Harry’s in trouble,” she said. “Probably won’t do any good to argue with him, Tonks.”

Tonks sighed. “I don’t reckon we really have time for it, anyway. Come on, we have to hurry.”


	23. A Retrospective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback; Rane and Sirius share an evening beneath the stars in the weeks before Halloween.

Grimmauld place was silent save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, the intermittent, snuffling snores of Walburga Black beneath the drapes that hung over her portrait, the occasional scampering patter of a rat scurrying across the ancient floorboards . . . And something else, something very low. Rane Roth, however, was part Elf, and like her father before her, she heard everything, whether she liked it or not.

Her eyes opened in the darkness, and she was staring out the window from where she lay on her side, her hands cradled beneath her collarbone. For a moment she remained perfectly motionless as she did whenever she awoke this way in the night, listening for whatever it was that had roused her like a guarded animal, still save for the fluttering of her eyelashes and the steady beat of her heart. Outside, the clouds in the winter sky had cleared at last to reveal a startlingly vivid night sky. Rane could see Ursa Minor immediately, a system she’d insisted as a Hogwarts student was actually the Little Dipper to her stalwart father, who in true Elven fashion had resolutely informed her that its true, Sindarin name was Neth’Ùn, and since the Sindarin had named the stars that cycled above their heads long before the first caveman had even fashioned words for such things, that was all there was to it.  
The sound came again - almost a moan, she thought. Whatever it was, it was coming from downstairs. And at any rate, now that she was up, she wasn’t falling asleep again anytime soon, so, may as well play detective like the good Order watch she was . . .

Rane tugged the sheet off of her and got to her feet. For perhaps the fourth or fifth time since she had begun to regularly stay in Grimmauld Place, she noticed the chill of the bedroom and the window that was hanging ajar. It was only a week or two until Halloween and deadly cold outside, and Rane clearly recalled shutting the damned thing before she turned in.

 _It’s that house elf,_ she thought as she pulled her robes over her shoulders, not for the first time. _It’s got to be that house elf that lives here, trying to spite us all away . . ._

She shoved the thought away from her as she opened the door to the bedroom she usually shared with Ginny and Hermione (they’d left for Hogwarts, of course, along with the rest of them), shamed by the nastiness of such a thought. She’d had only a handful of encounters with Kreacher, and although admittedly none of them were particularly pleasant (indeed, on one occasion he had outright cursed her and thrown himself onto the ground in a full-blown tantrum after she‘d revealed she‘d be staying the night), she thought it rather callous of her to judge him so harshly without any sincere rationale. It was true that Sirius despised him, of course, and he had known Kreacher longer than any of them, but still -

Rane felt a not-unfamiliar flurry of butterflies in her stomach at the thought of Sirius, and even as she walked down the dim, chilly stairway she felt heat rise to her face. In spite of her recent dismissal from the Aurors office, she’d felt positively radiant lately. Sirius Black, and her, in the same bed, not once but like . . . Four times? Five? With the scenery blurring past like this, she was having a hard time keeping count. She hadn’t been this keyed up in who knew how long, this sensation of newness, of exhilaration, maybe even of lo -

 _No,_ she thought, cutting this train of thought off cleanly before it could burgeon into something she was not prepared to entertain. _Sex, that’s what it is. That’s_ all _it is, so take it with a grain of salt or don’t take it at all._

The sound came again. Rane stood for a moment at the landing. There was a form on the moth-eaten sofa, huddled into a bunch, staring out at the open veranda doors where the stars glittered down brightly from a sky so preternaturally vivid it was almost unbelievable it could be hanging above light-polluted London. It wasn’t a person as Rane had surmised, in actuality; it looked rather like a big fluffy animal. A dog, perhaps. Sitting on the sofa, tail wrapped around its hindquarters, paws together before its barrel-like chest, ears flattened dismally as it stared off into the night outside. As she watched, it let loose a low whimper.

“Sirius?” she whispered.

The dog jumped, its ears perking at once, and there was a sudden, low flash of light that illuminated with perfect clarity a glass falling from the corner of the end table beside the sofa. The acrid aroma of firewhiskey filled the air at once.

“Blimey,” said a thick voice. “Molly?”

“It‘s Rane . . . Sirius, is that you?”

But of course there was only one man at 12 Grimmauld Place who could become a dog at his whim, and he was now seated in the spot his canine form had recently occupied.

“It’s me, yes,” he said unnecessarily. Rane could see him swiping at the tendrils of hair dangling before his face with one hand.

Rane walked towards him tentatively. Rounding the sofa, he at last came into view. He was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, one arm wrapped around them. His hair was hanging in his face unmolested, and Rane could see the glint of his eyes as he stared outside.

“Sirius, what -?”

“Careful, there’s -!”

“Ow, OW, oh _sonofa_ -!”

Rane had stepped onto a shard from the glass of firewhiskey Sirius had just broken; she dropped to the floor at once, gripping her ankle.

“Bloody hell, Rane, I’m sorry, I did try to tell you -”

Sirius was on all fours beside her in a moment. With a hasty wave of his wand, the bits of glass on the floor vanished; presently a light from its tip was shining almost blindingly into her face, searing her dilated pupils.

“Jesus, that’s bright -!”

“Hold still, let me see it.”

His stern tone stilled her at once. Sirius trained his wand light on Rane’s left foot. There was a chunk of glass, easily four or five inches long, sticking out of her heel. The floor was already sticky with blood. Rane cringed sickly away from the sight of it.

“Oh, gross . . . I dunno if I can pull it out . . .”

“Thought it was broken bones that got you all squeamish?” Sirius remarked, sounding amused. He made a sudden movement, and Rane squeaked involuntarily. There was the clink of glass being dropped onto the wooden side table, followed by the soft whoosh of some spell being administered.

“It’s out,” said Sirius, getting to his feet. “Come on up, you’re alright.”

Rane accepted his proffered hand and rose tentatively. “Thanks,” she remarked, rubbing her forehead. “That’s one way to . . .”

She trailed off, looking at Sirius carefully. Seeing her eyes on him, he turned quickly away, extinguishing his wand, but not before Rane had caught sight of his red eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, yes,” Sirius replied, reclaiming his seat on the sofa. He wasn’t looking at Rane; his eyes were trained towards the darkness beyond the veranda doors.

Rane stood where she was for a second, hesitant.

“Can I join you?” she asked after a moment, keeping her voice cautiously low.

Sirius shrugged, still not looking at her, and drew his sleeve hastily across his mouth. Rane sat on the sofa beside him, curled her legs beneath her Indian-style and clasped her hands in her lap, following his gaze towards the night sky. Sirius shifted at her closeness, clearly uneasy, and threw his feet onto the table before them, crossing both his legs and his arms. Rane thought privately that she had never seen him looking less convivial to her company in all the months she’d known him.

They sat in not-quite-comfortable silence for a few moments. Sirius sniffed, then cleared his throat roughly.

“That’s _Neth’Ùn,_ ” Rane murmured.

“Hmm?”

Rane leaned towards him slightly and pointing she drew with one finger the long tail and stocky body of the constellation in the night sky.

“ _Neth’Ùn,_ ” she repeated. “The Cub.”

“They taught us in Divination that it was called the Little Dipper.”

“Don’t let my dad hear you talking like that.”

Sirius scoffed, but Rane didn’t think he sounded terribly amused.

“I hope I didn’t wake you up,” Sirius said.

“Wasn’t you,” Rane replied. “I hear everything, that’s all. If someone two blocks away slams a car door I’m up. Occupying the room above Harry and Ron this summer was not a pleasant experience for me, let me tell you . . .”

“Must be a bit annoying.”

“Yeah, deviated septum or something, must be -”

“I meant hearing everything, you bloody idiot,” said Sirius, smirking.

Rane was smirking, too. “It‘s not so bad. Comes in handy sometimes.”

“Like when?”

“Super secret spy missions, for the most part.”

Sirius scoffed, another sound mostly free of humor. He remained slouched in the sofa, one hand stroking his chin, his eyes on the night sky. Rane could hear the gentle rasp of his fingers against the rough stubble there.

“Think Kreacher’s back at it again,” she said grimly.

“What, opening your window?”

Rane nodded. “I thought maybe after Hermione and Ginny were gone he’d knock it off, but I guess he’s out for blood.”

“You ought to let me get onto him,” Sirius said. “He’s got no choice but to listen to me, the prat . . .”

They lapsed into another silence.

“Are you going to for-real talk to me, or should we keep up this mindless banter all evening?” Rane asked him after a moment. “I’m pretty good at playing chicken, either way.”

Sirius passed a hand over his face, loosed another sigh and moved as if he were about to rise to his feet.

“Look, it’s late, I should -”

Rane reached out and took his hand as he stood. He looked down at her, surprised.

“Hang on.“

He stared down at her, at the starlight riding the ridge of her nose, the stray hairs at the crown of her head, the shadow beneath her full lower lip, the glisten as her hazel eyes flickered back and forth, marking his face. She stroked his palm gently with her thumb, her grip firm.

“Sit down, hey?”

Sirius hesitated.

“You don’t want to hang out with me, or what?“ Rane asked him, trying to sound light.

“’Course I do,“ said Sirius quietly.

Rane patted the sofa. “Then c’mere.”

Sirius hesitated, then sank back down, this time nearer to her. She relinquished his hand only long enough to abandon all pretense and scoot closer to him, placing her long legs beneath her. Now their thighs were touching, and she glanced over at him out of the corner of her eye, unable to suppress a slight twinge in the pit of her stomach at the closeness of him. His skin was warm against hers through his robes, the smell of him close and musky. She faltered a moment, then reached out and took his left hand in her right, linking her fingers through his, feeling the cool skin of his palms against hers. She brought it to her lap, clasping in in both of her own, and felt his fingers tighten against hers.

“Is this okay?” she asked after a moment.

She found the clear diffidence in her voice rather disagreeable, but Sirius’s grip tightened gently in response, a quick squeeze, all the verification she needed.

She fell silent, privately relishing the feeling of his hand in hers. They stared out at the sky together, side by side in the dark livingroom, silent save for their gentle breath. A few minutes passed between them.

“What are you thinking?”

Rane was looking at him. He turned his eyes to her, slowly.

“I was thinking about . . .”

Rane waited, watching him silently. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes moving up and down her face, then turned his gaze away.

“You were thinking about what?

Sirius took a breath. He reached laboriously into his pocket and produced his wand, which his waved distractedly. Another glass of firewhiskey appeared in a low flash of light, not unlike the one that had flared when Sirius had transformed from dog to man.

“What’s on your mind?” Rane asked him again.

Sirius paused with the glass halfway to his lips. He looked over at her, his expression surprised and a little repentant.

“Rane, I have to apologize,” he said after a moment. Rane thought he sounded oddly decorous. “I’m not very good at . . . _This.”_

He gestured with one hand vaguely, looking flustered.

“So, just be patient with me, alright?”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Sirius glanced at her. “Rane, you make me very uncomfortable, for a lot of reasons.”

Rane met his eyes briefly and then looked away, unsure whether to laugh or not.

“I am very alarmed at how much I care for you,” said Sirius slowly. “Very alarmed.”

Rane looked over at him in surprise.

“And that upsets you?” she said.

“Honestly, yeah, it does a bit.”

Rane felt a flash of injury at this pronouncement. She looked away, her brows drawn down.

“We’ve only spent a few nights together, Rane,” Sirius told her earnestly, peering into his firewhiskey glass. “I dunno, seems that I’m . . . my heart is running away with my head, you know? I dunno if you even -”

“Sirius, I pretty much fell in love with you the day I met you,” said Rane softly.

Sirius looked at her, his eyebrows high. “Say what, now?”

Rane shrugged. “It really surprises me that you didn’t cotton on sooner, to be honest.”

“The first time we met, you tried to hex me out of my boots, as I recall . . .”

Rane’s smile became a grin. “What did you expect? I’d been staring at your mug shot plastered all over the Ministry since I passed the Auror exam . . .”

“Well, when was it, then?”

Rane sighed. “If you’re going to get the nitty-gritty details out of me, I want one of those, too.”

Sirius dug out his wand and waved it at once. A second glass of firewhiskey manifested on the table before them, clinking, the reddish liquid glittering in the starlight. “Don’t be stingy!”

Sirius snorted and waved his wand again. The glass filled nearly to the brim. Rane took a breath, reached out and took it, lifting it towards Sirius. Sirius inclined his towards her as well.

“Your good health,” she said, and tossed it back in a go. Sirius laughed appreciatively, then threw back the remainder of his own, hissing slightly.

“Blimey, but that stings,” he said thickly, waving his wand once again. Their glasses both refilled at once. “Reckon 22 was a long time ago.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Rane asked him abruptly.

Sirius looked at her over the rim of his glass, freezing. Rane tossed back her glass again, shuddering, and nodded to him.

“Suck back some of that liquid courage and answer me,” she said, grinning.

Sirius sighed, shaking his head lightly, and finished his glass as well. Each one was refilled in a moment. Rane was feeling decidedly fuzzy already.

Sirius mumbled something.

“Come again?”

“I said I’m 37,” he said, very quietly.

“Horseshit.”

“It isn’t,” said Sirius somberly, looking at her.

“I took you for 32 on the back end, Sirius,” said Rane, genuinely surprised.

Sirius barked a laugh. “You’re taking the piss!”

“I am not!”

“You mean to tell me that you, a decent, educated woman, thought the bloke you met at Grimmauld Place last June, who was maybe 10 stone soaking wet, with bags under his eyes a mile long, with his bloody hair past his shoulders and without a decent bath in six months . . . You thought that bloke was 32?!”

Rane shrugged, conceding. “Okay, well when you put it like that . . .”

“Here’s an even better one . . . They never mentioned how old I was while you lot were searching high and low for me at the Auror Department?”

Rane thought for a second.

“I dunno, but if they did, I don’t recall,” she admitted after a moment. “Most of what they focused on was what you looked like and how much you liked physical violence. And how clever you were with magic, of course. And how tall you were, that was a big one . . . Six foot one,” she added as Sirius opened his mouth to ask. “They really drilled it into us.”

“Fat lot of good it did them,” Sirius muttered smugly.

“Well, I found you, didn’t I?”

Sirius laughed. “Dumbledore took you right to me -!”

“Who’s to say it wasn’t all part of my devious plan?”

“You’re barmy. Cheers.”

They clinked glasses and finished each of their drinks again. Sirius hiccupped and Rane giggled at once.

“Anyway, go on,” said Sirius, a little thickly.

“Remind me what I’m supposed to be going on about.”

Sirius snorted and began to laugh in earnest. Rane stared off into the night, grinning herself.

“Quit making fun of me!”

“You were about to tell me -”

“Oh, when I started getting all nimbly-mimbly for you, yeah, yeah.” Rane cleared her throat affably. “One time, a whole hot minute ago, I smashed my finger in the doorway of Grimmauld Place, and you fixed it for me -”

“Oh blimey, not the time I was aggressively hitting on you and you were ignoring me?”

“Well, I wouldn't say it wasn’t _aggressive_ -”

“Mate, I was sitting on the sofa holding your hand an inch from your face at the end of it telling you how lovely you were!” Sirius said, laughing. “Now which bit of that _doesn’t_ sound aggressive?”

“Yeah well, I’m not known for my social prowess.”

“No bloody kidding.”

“Anyway, it was really right then,” Rane went on. “I remember after you finished fixing my finger, you sat there with me for a second and then Remus or somebody called us in for the meeting . . .”

She fell silent, smiling in a bemused way, her glass held loosely in her hand.

“Go on!”

“Patience, grasshopper,” Rane replied, still smirking. “It’s just . . . It was odd. Never happened to me this way.” She took a breath and let it out. “As you were walking away, I was watching you go, and then in the doorway you turned around and looked back at me. And that was it. I felt it . . . Here.”

She touched her stomach.

“Right here. I knew it right away, I knew I had just fallen for you.”

Sirius was listening to this intently. “That was months before -”

“Yeah, I know. I was way too shy to tell you. I don’t think I’ve ever been . . . “

She fell suddenly silent, surprised at the candor that was exiting her mouth.

“I’m getting kind of drunk,” she admonished.

“Makes two of us,” Sirius agreed, refilling their glasses.

Rane glanced down, noticing abruptly that she still had Sirius’s hand clasped in her lap. He was looking, too.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, looking at her. “Keep it.”

Rane hesitated, then leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. Sirius’s face lit up into a grin as he stared down at his glass of firewhiskey.

“So,” said Rane, unable to suppress a smile of her own. “Go on, ask me.”

“You‘re 25,” said Sirius. “I’ve done my homework.”

“What? How did you know that?”

“Well,” said Sirius, “when you arrived at headquarters for the first time, I was . . . Well . . . Well, after the initial hello was finished, I was rather curious about you, so I did some asking around, you see . . .”

Rane laughed. “The initial hello meaning when I tried to curse you into the next week and arrest Albus for harboring a fugitive?”

“That’s the one,” Sirius agreed, smirking. “Though I have to say, you’re underestimating my skill if you think it would’ve been so easy as all that . . .”

Even a little bit drunk, Rane could happily concede this. “I have no doubt you could have blown me to bits,” she agreed soberly. “I was scared stupid.”

“Anyways, as it turns out, Dung had quite a bit of backlog on you,” Sirius went on distastefully.

“Dung?”

“The very same. Turns out I wasn’t the only one, er . . . interested in you.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Rane shivered, feeling oddly despoiled. “What did he say?”

“He said you were 25 and single. And he had some intel on the bloke you’d been seeing before me, too, as it so happens . . .”

Rane flushed crimson. “Christ. Who, Mike?”

Sirius scoffed, looking into the distance haughtily. _“Mike,_ what a wanker of a name . . .”

“He wasn’t a wanker, he was really sweet!”

“If you say so,” said Sirius moodily.

“How in the hell did Dung know about him?!”

“Well, you know, he’s fairly clever sometimes, Dung,” Sirius said, tapping his fingers idly on his glass. “Dead useful sometimes, he is. He could dig up dirt on damn near anyone, that’s one of the reasons he’s in the Order.”

“I always thought he was a little bit on the shady side,” Rane murmured.

“Oh, he is,” Sirius agreed. He polished his whiskey off in a go and nodded to Rane. “Going to finish that?”

Rane did, slamming the empty glass down with a flourish and shaking her head. “God _damn_ that’s nasty! Shall we have another?”

“You know, tomorrow is going to be hell for us both,” Sirius remarked, refilling their glasses. “I’ve lost count how many of these we’ve - _hic_ \- thrown away, have you as well?”

Rane burped. “Numbers are hard.”

“Anyways,” said Sirius, waving a hand. “He said you were single, but you’d date a bloke here and there . . . And I use the term ‘date’ loosely,” he added loftily. "Dung said you'd keep them around for a few weeks and leave them high and dry. Said he thought you rather preferred to be on your own."

Rane snorted. “Got me there.”

“He also said you spent whatever time you weren’t working pent up in this god-awful flat in London,” Sirius went on. “Said you visited the Elves every fortnight or so, although he never was able to get much more on that . . . Isn’t it customary for Elves to marry one another off and such, incidentally?”

Rane sighed. “Yes, it is.”

“And?”

Rane looked over at Sirius, who was watching her over the rim of his glass.

“And what?”

“And why aren’t you a blushing bride yet?” Sirius asked her, grinning.

“Because,” said Rane, staring into the night sky moodily, “I didn’t like the dude.”

“The dude?”

“Yes, the dude,” said Rane. “I didn’t like him so I dissolved it. End of story.”

She was glaring at the stars, her brow furrowed. Sirius snorted.

“Sorry, mate,” he said sardonically.

Rane snorted too. “No apology necessary. Pretty simple, I think. Not that the Elves were very happy with me, mind you, I _still_ get shit for it now and then. What about you, aren’t Purebloods supposed to -?”

“Not me,” Sirius told her sagely. “Not since I was sixteen and running off to live with James. They wouldn’t have had me, none of them. And it was mutual.”

He sipped on his whiskey, stone-faced.

“Think we both came out better for it,” said Rane. “Highborn Elves and some of these Pureblood wizards don’t know it but they’d get along swimmingly. Bunch of supercilious blowhards, all of ‘em. The Weasleys are the only exceptions I can think of.”

“Me,” Sirius reminded her.

“Yeah, you, I guess.”

Sirius turned to her, his eyes marking hers. “Finish that,” he said, nodding to her glass.

She did, and set it with a clank on the table. Sirius turned towards her, relinquishing his own empty glass and setting it on the table beside hers. Now he was very close to her, and Rane watched his face, smelling the faint ghost of firewhiskey on his breath.

“Ready for a bit of - _hic_ \- seriousness?”

“Always.”

“I think I’m falling for you.”

Rane looked up at him. “It’s mutual,” she said softly.

Sirius looked at her frankly. “That was why I was upset tonight, Rane. It worries me, how much I‘m . . . I‘m invested in this, I suppose. So early.”

Rane leaned forward and pressed her mouth on his gently, tasting him. She leaned back, looking into his eyes.

“I won’t hurt you, Sirius,” she whispered. “Never in life.”

“No?” Sirius’s voice was low, almost entreating.

“No.”

Sirius leaned towards her and kissed her again, placing both hands on the sides of her face, and Rane leaned towards him as well, relishing the desperation in his touch, the heat of his lips on hers, the flicker of his tongue on hers. One of his hands moved quickly up beneath her tank, slipping up her side gently, squeezing.

“You asked me when I fell for you,” Rane said, drawing away from him and staring into his eyes. He was very near to her, his face inches from hers, his breath slightly quick.

“And you told me.”

Rane pushed him away gently, grinning at him. “Have one more with me while I finish telling you. There was another time, later. I almost told you, but I chickened out.”

Sirius looked bemused, a rather playful grin dancing across his mouth. “If I do will you -?”

Rane hissed, giving him a disapproving look. “Silence, let the lady speak.”

Sirius sat back, breathing deeply. “Fine, but I won’t like it.”

He brandished his wand once more, and though Rane was feeling decidedly drunk now (and by the looks of it so was Sirius, who was wavering slightly where he sat, the redness of his cheeks visible even in the starlight), she threw her glass back in a go.

“Ugh,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Can’t say I’m a fan of your taste, this shit goes down kinda rough . . .”

“Forgive me if I don’t leap at the opportunity to take an American’s idea of a good drink to heart, mate,” Sirius muttered.

Rane scoffed, giving him a highly affronted look. “Clearly you’ve never had Jack Daniels, you unscrupulous heathen. It puts this garbage to shame.”

“Devil take your Jack Daniels, you yank,” Sirius said haughtily, and ducked as Rane swiped at him.

“Anyways,” she said, straightening and fixing him with a rather decorous look, “I was about to tell you a story.”

“Go on, then.”

“One day you showed me how to greet Buckbeak,” said Rane. She found with a hint of amusement that she felt almost shy saying this aloud. “Do you remember?”

“You said you had no bloody idea how to do it, yes,” Sirius was saying, nodding. “I was worried you’d pop in to say hello one day and he’d take your silly head off -”

“Well, actually, I might have lied,” said Rane, looking into the night sky, smirking. “I‘ve been around hippogriffs a couple times, I knew what to do. I just wanted to get you by yourself.”

Sirius looked at her in genuine surprise. “No kidding?”

Rane shook her head. “I’m sorry, it was just . . . Well, you kept on offering and it was too tempting to get you up into that room alone -”

“But nothing happened!”

“I know, I just . . . Just wanted you by yourself.”

Sirius was looking at Rane, bemused. He remembered the incident quite well. Rane had approached him that morning as he trumped upstairs towards his mother’s old room, a bloody bag of weasels in one hand. He’d been in a rather foul mood; Dumbledore had denied him for the fourth or fifth time the opportunity to escape Grimmauld Place for a few hours, his tone this time betraying the slightest hint of weariness. Rane had been present for the meeting that morning and had the afternoon off of work, and as she had taken to doing more and more frequently lately, she had opted to hang around Headquarters for a spell. It was decidedly more inviting than her flat, for one thing; for another, she had the opportunity to be near to Sirius, for whom she’d been nursing a soft spot for a few weeks now. Catching sight of him trundling about in the kitchen with the morning light riding his forehead was reason enough in itself.

 _Can I come?_ She’d asked hesitantly. _I want to meet him._

Sirius, bewildered, had gestured for her to follow him, feeling a hint of anxiety. She had been looking very pretty that morning in a tied-off tee-shirt and shorts, and she seemed to be mostly legs and lovely hazel eyes, her hands clasped behind her back, rocking hither and yon slightly.

Buckbeak had been lying curled on Walburga’s old bed, his massive wings folded around him. His great head had risen as they entered, the ruff of feathers along his neck rising.

 _Bow to him_ , Sirius had told Rane, speaking in a low voice. _Just at the waist, mind you. And whatever you do, don't insult him_.

Rane had strode past him, quite self-possessed. At the time Sirius had thought nothing of it - perhaps she was just trying to appear confident - but now he saw her poise for what it was. Rane had known all along how to greet Buckbeak, had perhaps even done it on her own before. She bent at the waist, offering Sirius a view that he couldn’t quite bring himself not to admire, and Buckbeak at once lowered his head. Rane strode forward and stroked his beak, and Buckbeak’s yellow eyes fell shut in happiness.

 _He’s so handsome,_ Rane said quietly, running her hands down his neck. Buckbeak ruffled his feathers at once, looking pleased.

 _He certainly likes to think so_ , Sirius had said, reaching into the sack and producing a mangled weasel. He tossed it to Buckbeak, who caught it deftly and swallowed it in a go, looking

pleased with himself.  
Rane had turned to Sirius, who had already taken another weasel in his hands, and his eyes met hers. He felt himself recoil slightly at the closeness of her; years of seclusion had taught him a curious lesson about nearness of others.

_Are you seeing Tonks?_

Sirius had recoiled at this question, completely taken aback. _What?_

_Are you?_

The laughter that emanated from him was booming and genuine, and Rane, so touched by its sincerity, had to smile a little herself. When he laughed like this, it was positively contagious.

 _Am I bloody seeing - no, Rane, I most certainly am not_ , Sirius had told her at length, still catching his breath. Buckbeak was watching this spectacle from his roost on Walburga’s bed, his head slightly cocked _. She’s my cousin, mate, it wouldn’t be right._

 _Your_ . . .

Rane had nodded slightly, looking off to one side.

_Oh. Your cousin._

_Yeah, mate, she’s my cousin_. Sirius was looking at her closely now though, the weasel held loosely in his hand. Buckbeak was eyeing it. _Why do you ask?_

Rane looked at him quickly, clearly aware that she’d exposed herself. _Curious,_ she said evasively.

_Curious, was it?_

Rane laughed, feeling her face flush. _You asked me if I was married, didn’t you?_

Sirius shrugged in concession.

 _Well, why were_ you _curious?_

They looked at each other in silence for a moment in the morning sunlight. Rane’s face was still pink.

 _Anything else you’re curious about?_ Sirius asked her quietly.

_Like what?_

_Like whether you -_

He was interrupted by Buckbeak snatching the weasel from his hand and tossing it back. Both Sirius and Rane jumped.

 _Jesus fuck,_ Rane remarked, laughing.

 _Yeah, he’s quick,_ Sirius agreed, rubbing his wrist ruefully. Buckbeak was shaking his head, his beak snapping.

Sirius looked at Rane again, but she had moved towards the door.

 _I should go,_ she said quickly. _Thanks for the, uh… well, you know._

 _Pleasure,_ Sirius replied, and offered her a smile. She returned it, her face slightly flushed, and she’d then edged out the door, leaving Sirius to contemplate this bizarre encounter with his hippogriff.

 _Lovely thing, that,_ he had muttered. Buckbeak snorted in response, and Sirius stroked his feathery head, staring at the door pensively.

“You’re a damn good liar,” Sirius remarked as he and Rane sat on the sofa.

Rane scoffed. “Took every ounce of courage I had to ask you about Tonks.”

“Look, I think I love you.”

Rane was badly startled by this. She didn’t look over at Sirius yet, though she could feel his eyes on her. She kept them on the stars, her brows furrowed.

“You don’t know that.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius agreed. “But I think I do.”

Rane looked at him, met his eyes; he was looking at her, leaning back on the sofa, his legs crossed before him, his hair a mess. She leaned over and pressed her mouth on his, hard. She felt his hands caress her back gently.

“Try me again in a week,” she whispered into his lips.

“I will,” said Sirius, and he did.


	24. The Ministry of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius, Tonks, Mad-Eye, Wade, Kingsley, Rane and Remus make their way to the Ministry, where Severus fears Harry Potter may have gone

“What do you know about the Department of Mysteries?”

Kingsley was looking at Rane expectantly as he pulled on his cloak. Rane, who was readjusting her belt, looked at him in bewilderment.

“Me? Are you asking _me_?”

“You’ve been there more than we have,” said Tonks.

“I’ve been there _twice_ ,” said Rane. “Why don’t you ask my dad, he’s apt to know more about it than -?”

Right on cue, they heard the door slam; Wade came trotting around the corner a moment later, unclasping the large, silvery-red pendant at the throat of his cloak. Rane recognized it as the sigul of the _maethor_ , something he wore only while posted with the militia at Ylle Thalas.

“Are you on duty?” she asked him suspiciously.

Wade nodded, slightly winded, removing the cloak and tossing it into a heedless pile on the sofa. He was in muggle attire beneath this, which was stranger still; a pair of faded jeans, a black t-shirt and his boots, which were muddy.

“Why? And why are you wearing that?”

“Later, Rane,” said Wade sharply. “What do y’all know?”

“Severus told us about Umbridge and Harry,” said Remus. “He fears that Harry’s gone to the Ministry.”

“Which is why we need to go,” Sirius piped up from where he was pacing restlessly behind them. “Now. Now!”

“Why would Harry do that? Anyone know?” said Wade. “Sirius, did he mention anything to you?”

Sirius shook his head, still pacing.

“Dumbledore may, but we haven’t heard from -” Kingsley began.

“Dad, why are you on duty?” said Rane, interrupting him. “Why?”

Wade looked at her, seemed about to deflect again, then reconsidered.

“The Death Eaters attacked our guards this evening,” he said, relenting. “Got four of them. Snuck up and shot ‘em down from ambush, the dirty dogs,” he added vehemently. “I had to muster the _hossë_ about an hour ago.”

“ _What_?”

“I don’t know why they did it, if that’s your next question,” Wade said. “Neither does anybody else, Iliwynn included.”

Rane looked around her, paling. “Fuck,” she breathed. “It was a goddam distraction.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why else would they attack Ylle Thalas out of the blue?” Rane asked him, her voice rising. “It can’t be a coincidence that Harry leaves Hogwarts and within an _hour_ the Elves are attacked, it’s a distraction.” She looked at Sirius, who was staring at her, his face ashen. “They know he’s there. They _know_ Harry’s there, somehow.”

“FUCK!” said Sirius, sounding not just impatient now but afraid.

The door in the corridor slammed again, and a moment later Alastor Moody came trumping into the livingroom, looking harried.

“Where’s Dumbledore?” he said at once.

“We don’t know, no one’s heard from him,” said Rane, looking at him.

“We have to go,” said Wade. “I need to brief you all on the Department of Mysteries first, though, because that is one very nasty place. Have any of you been there?”

“Twice,” said Rane. “Just into the hallway.”

Both Tonks and Kingsley were shaking their heads.

“Only the two of you?” said Remus, sounding incredulous, staring at Wade. “But you’re _Aurors_!”

“Unspeakables do not answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” said Kingsley. “We don’t have any authority in there.”  
Wade nodded. “Alastor and I have been there a number of times,” he said, nodding to Moody, who nodded back, his magical eye spinning agitatedly. “The best thing that we could tell you is -”

“Don’t trust anything you see or hear,” Moody interrupted. “Nothing in there wants to be your friend. Better wizards and witches than the likes of us have vanished, or gone mad, or turned up seventy years older.”

Wade was nodding. “There’s a reason it’s off limits. So all of you, remember that. Don’t _touch_ anything, don’t _speak_ to anything, if you start to hear or feel something that seems weird, _say_ something to somebody else, and above all, we _stick - together_.” He put heavy emphasis on the last two words, looking around severely. Everyone nodded.

“Come on!” Sirius said loudly. He had not ceased pacing back and forth, his wand gripped tightly in one hand at his side. “Enough, let’s GO -!”

“Sirius, Tonks is right, you shouldn’t go,” Rane said, rounding on him. His desperation frightened her, badly. “You’re way too close to this.”

“Me? What about you?” he said, gesturing to her broadly.

“I’m an Auror,” she said, low.

“You’re not _an_ Auror!”

Rane watched him, silent. Sirius stood before her, breathing quickly, his wand still clutched at his side.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I - just - we have to go, Rane, Harry could be -”

Rane stepped closer to him and pulled him close, her hand tight on his.

“I know you love Harry,” she said softly, looking into his eyes, “but you have someone else to think about now, too.”

Sirius looked at her, softening.

“I’ll be fine, love,” he said. “We’ll be fine. But I can’t sit by while he’s in danger, I _can’t,_ Rane. Not again. _Not_ again.”

“Make a call,” said Wade loudly, watching them. “We may not have much time.”

Rane and Sirius regarded one another silently, their child between them. Then Sirius leaned forward and pressed his mouth on hers, quickly.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated.

“I love you.”

“I love you too. You know I do.”

Rane watched him for another moment, then sighed and turning from him strode back to the cluster behind them.

“Let’s go,” she said, raising her wand and extending her arm into the center of them. Their hands met in the center at once.

“When we arrive, stick close to Alastor and me,” Wade told them. His face was pale. “Understood?”

There was a murmur of consent. Remus and Tonks were standing side by side, their faces long.

Rane lifted her wand and Grimmauld Place dissolved in a jetty of light, leaving a twirling eddy of dust in their wake in the empty living room.

THE streets of London outside the Ministry were dark, the streetlights casting an unpleasant orange glow across the damp cobblestone. The air was still, cool and silent save for the distant thrum of cars nearby. As the seven of them appeared in a pop on the pavement, the thuds of their bootheels startled a scrawny black cat out of a nearby bin. It fled, hissing, before them, knocking over the trash in a rush as it did, and streaked away down the street and into the shadows.

“Bad luck,” said Tonks, looking after it warily as they strode towards the telephone box nearby.

“No such thing,” said Wade, though he sounded uneasy.

Rane was all too familiar with the box itself, which was as weathered and filthy as ever. Moody clunked up to it, then turned to the others.

“Wade and I’ll go first,” he said, “and the rest of you come down in twos after. Rane last,” he added, nodding to her, “in case there’s danger.”

“Why me?” Rane said, affronted. “Why not Sirius?”

“Because you’re in the family way,” said Remus. “Sirius can take care of himself.”

“He said it,” said Wade approvingly, nodding.

Rane stepped back grudgingly, watching as her father and Moody crammed themselves awkwardly into the telephone box. A moment later they vanished beneath the sidewalk, and the box was empty again.

“Y’all next,” Rane said, gesturing to Remus and Tonks. They obliged at once, and once the tops of their heads had vanished beneath them, Kingsley, who was even taller and broader than Wade, stepped into the booth alone.

“I’ve tried sharing, trust me,” he said to them grimly, shutting the glass door behind him.

As he sunk away to join the rest of them, Sirius’s hand stole out and grasped Rane’s hand tightly. She turned to look at him.

“Still got that bad feeling?” he asked her.

“You bet your ass I do,” she replied.

Sirius sighed. “I’m starting to feel it too. Damned if I know if it’s you or something else.”

Rane gripped him by the shoulders, looking at him. His face was lit harshly by the orange streetlights, his mouth turned down.

“You be careful down there,” she said softly. She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “For us. All three of us. You promise me.”

“I promise,” he said somberly. He lifted one hand and stroked her cheek gently. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Either of you.”

Rane looked into his eyes another brief moment, then they turned together, strode into the phone booth and descended side by side, out of the London night and into the Ministry of Magic.

THE Atrium of the Ministry was a place that Rane had all but forgotten in the months since she‘d been fired from the Auror‘s Office, but the sense of homecoming was bittersweet and immediate nonetheless. She had forgotten how familiar the sound of the fountain at its heart was as she strode to her office each morning, the feeling of the cool stone beneath her feet, the low crackle of the many Floo hearths lining the quarter. But this evening, the Atrium they found was not the one she remembered from her early days at the bureau. It was quite deserted; even the wand inspection desk was empty. The emptiness struck her as portentous.

“Where‘s the bloody _security?”_ Kingsley remarked, echoing her thoughts.

“There are usually three or four just there, at least,” Tonks agreed, gesturing to either side of the entryway they’d just passed through. Sirius and Remus, side by side, were also looking around cautiously, their wands at the ready.

Wade had stopped a little ways ahead of them and now stood motionless; his head was lifted slightly, seeming to sample the very air around them. It was a posture Rane and Sirius were both very familiar with.

“What’re you -?” Moody began, but Rane shushed him harshly, not taking her eyes off her father.

He turned after a moment, looking around at them. “There’s no one here,” he said shortly. “No staff, anyway. Not so much as a goddam caretaker.”

“That seems very, very fucking weird,” Rane muttered, looking around uneasily.

“Why, do you suppose?” Remus said, low.

Wade shook his head. “I dunno but I’ve been here all hours and not once in all the years I’ve been an Auror has the whole goddam Ministry been abandoned, that I can tell you. Alastor, you ever seen the beat of it?”

Moody shook his head as well, looking restless. “Never.”

Wade already held his wand in his right hand; presently he drew his sword with his left, the blade clanging ominously in the silence as it left its scabbard.

“You got yours?” he said, nodding at Rane.

She pulled her cloak off and deposited in a pile near the entryway, revealing the sheath that hung at her belt.

“How bout your grandpa’s kukri?”

Rane yanked the blade from her jeans pocket and held it out balanced on her palm, where the dark spell-forged steel glinted malignly in the low light. “Think I’ll need it?”

“Better to be safe,” said Wade. He turned his eyes to the rest of them. “The rest of you, wands out. Rane, get up here with me. We’ll do our best to deflect what we see.”

“Why not Alastor and I?” said Kingsley, looking bewildered as Rane strode to the fore to stand by her father. “We’re more accomplished with Defensive Magic, we -”

“Elven blades reflect spells,” said Rane, looking back at him. In the dour light, she looked tall, lovely and rather menacing, her lean jean-clad form silhouetted against the flickering sconce lights in the dim atrium.

“And what’s your point?” said Sirius, looking at her with some concern. “We just went over this, Rane, you’re -”

“She’ll be fine,” said Wade. Rane glanced at him with some surprise, feeling a glimmer of pride at this pronouncement. “I’ve trained beneath Sindarin _maethor_ for centuries, and she’s trained beneath me. Nothing will get by us if you’re all on your toes.”

Sirius was looking at Rane, his brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

“Which way?” said Tonks anxiously.

“That way,” said Moody, gesturing with his staff. “Remember what we said, you lot, for all our sakes. And Harry’s.”

Rane stole one last look behind her at Sirius, then, with both her wand and her sword drawn before her, she and her father strode off hastily towards the East wing, the five Order members following at their heels.


	25. The Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order of the Phoenix set upon Harry Potter and his friends in the Department of Mysteries.

“Department of Mysteries,” said the cool female voice, and the golden gates before the lift slid open.

Rane and Wade strode out first, followed by Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Mad-Eye and Kingsley. Before them was a dark corridor, lit dimly with the reddish sconces, and at the end was a plain black door, absolutely austere and very out of place in the elegant Ministry of Magic. Rane had never liked that door, and had hurried past it whenever her duty gave her cause to descend to the ninth level. There was something eerie about it, something sinister. And the Unspeakables who frequented the floor were worse still, hard-faced and unsmiling, striding about doing whatever it was they did in there in dour silence. Aurors were well-respected, esteemed within the Ministry and without and treated as such; but in this Department, Rane had always felt very small, very insignificant. The Unspeakables were a different animal altogether, and they seemed formidably aware of their essential differences. Here, she had never been an Auror; all her accolades, all her months of training, her prowess, her reverence . . . Those things meant nothing to the Unspeakables in this place. To them she was minor leagues.

“Never much liked it here,” Mad-Eye murmured, echoing her sentiments. “Through that door, you lot.”

“No security here either,” Remus said, low. “Bit odd.”

“More than a bit,” Wade agreed. “There’s some fuckery afoot, make no mistake. I think Rane had it right about that attack back home. They’ve planned this, whatever it is.”

“I wish Dumbledore were here,” said Tonks bleakly.

“Probably just as well he isn’t with us,” Sirius remarked. “He’s a wanted man.”

“You’re a wanted man,” Rane reminded him, casting him a wan smile.

“A wanted man with a godson who’s in trouble,” Sirius agreed, and tipped her a wink.

There was a faint, echoing thud from beyond the door ahead of them, and then the unmistakable sound of a distant shriek. It was a decidedly female voice.

“Did you hear that?” Rane looked around at her companions. “Sounded like a girl, didn’t it?”

“Come on, now,” said Mad-Eye, striding towards the door. “Harry wouldn’t have come alone.”  
He rapped the wood once with his staff and the door sprung open with a shrill scree. Beyond, a dark room stretched before them, black from ceiling to floor. There were more doors here, twelve of them, all unmarked, circling the room itself. They slowly entered, looking around themselves uneasily. 

“Which way?” said Kingsley.

He looked at Wade, but Wade was looking around at the doors, deliberating.

“Wade?”

“Not sure,” said Wade, looking over at him.

“You _said_ you’d been here before -!”

“I have, but these doors, they -”

Before he could finish his sentence, there was a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate the stone beneath their very feet, and the doors before them began to move. After a moment’s time they resettled.

“They change,” Wade finished. “Protective measure. Discourages trespassing.”

Mad-Eye turned to Tonks. “You remember that tracking spell I taught you?”

Tonks nodded, lifting her wand. “Sorry I called it daffy, mate.”

She pointed her wand at the center of the room; a golden orb of light sprung from its tip, floated there a moment, and then flew towards the west side of the room. It came to a stop before one of the featureless doors, hovering there.

“That’s a neat trick,” said Kingsley appreciatively as they moved towards the door the spell had indicated. “What is it?”

“Goes towards the nearest people,” said Tonks. “Never thought I’d find use for it, to be honest . . .”

“Haven’t steered you wrong yet, have I?” said Mad-Eye gruffly. Tonks rolled her eyes.

“I _said_ I was sorry,” she muttered.

Sirius reached for the door handle, but Wade placed a hand on his forearm.

“Hang on.”

Sirius shook him off, looking impatient. “Look, while we’re standing around, Harry could be -!”

“Listen,” said Wade, “I think there may already be Death Eaters in there. Any of you disagree?”

Heads shook.

“Alright, so we agree that we’ll go in with wands out,” said Wade, lifting his own. “Rane and I will stay in the front. If we run into Unspeakables, or anyone else that works here, it’s Stun and Disarm, and we’ll worry about wiping their memories later, after the kid’s safe.”

“But you don’t think we will,” said Kingsley.

Wade shook his head. “No, I sure don’t. If we’d seen a guard downstairs, maybe, but . . . “

“Mad-Eye’s right, Harry won’t be alone,” said Sirius. His knuckles were white against his wand. “If he’s here, he’ll be with his friends.”

“Who?” said Rane, looking at him. “Hermione? Ron?”

Sirius nodded. “And maybe others. Remember the dueling club?”

Rane’s stomach sank. Dumbledore’s Army. She’d halfheartedly hoped that Harry was here by himself when they’d arrived, but she hadn’t taken the DA into account. Now, standing here before the door, she had no doubt at all that if he was indeed here, that he’d come to the Ministry in company.

“Alright, then,” said Wade. “On your toes, you lot. We’ll cover you.”

Rane raised her sword, the blade flashing dully in the low light. Sirius reached out and swung the door open.

The door swung open onto a broad stone room, something like an amphitheater. At its heart was a dais where a strange arch stood, a rippling black veil fluttering beneath it. But the arch and its weird shroud didn’t interest Rane; what interested her was the cataclysm happening before them.

It was a flashing madness of spells and noise. Rane spotted Harry right away; he was standing at the center near the pulpit, his wand extended, the light flashing off his glasses. And Mad-Eye had been right; he hadn’t come alone; indeed, he’d brought a squadron of his peers. Ron Weasley was also in evidence, lying on the stone with what appeared to be a large gray brain clinging to his chest; Hermione Granger wasn’t far behind, either. She was standing over a pale, blond girl that Rane had never seen, shooting spells with abandon. There were others, too - Ginny Weasley, her shock of red hair flying about her face, and a boy that Rane recognized immediately as the son of Frank Longbottom, a friend of her father’s in her childhood (Harry had mentioned him before, his name was Neville, Rane thought). He was firing at his assailants alongside Ginny, his face bloodied to hell and gone, spitting sprays of blood with each breath as it ran from his crushed nose into his mouth.

They weren’t alone, either; there were Death Eaters. At least a dozen by Rane’s count. Wade had been right, after all. Sirius was already racing towards Harry, his wand gripped in one hand, long hair flying behind him, dodging spells.

“Keep them between us,” Wade was saying to her, his voice lost in the din.

“REMUS, ON YOUR LEFT!” Rane shouted, and Remus ducked just in time to avoid a bright red spell. It flew over his head, ruffling his hair, directly towards Rane; she caught it with her blade and sent it careening into the opposite direction, where it struck the stone-flagged wall with a sound like breaking glass, leaving a long black streak. 

“GET TO THE KIDS!” Mad-Eye bellowed, and with surprising nimbleness he was running towards where the unconscious girl lay, Hermione straddling her and deflecting spells, her face harried.

WHEN the Death Eaters realized they were being set upon by the Order of the Phoenix, their attempts redoubled, resulting in almost directionless pandemonium. Narrative broke down in Rane‘s mind; as she began to settle into the cool, instinct-driven mindset that accompanied battle for her, it became a series of images without pattern or design:

\- Mad-Eye, diving behind a stone structure -

\- Remus, shouting at Tonks to get out of the way -

\- Tonks, shooting Stunning spells from behind the stone arch -

\- Neville, screaming as a Cruciatus Curse hit him -

\- Hermione and Harry yelling as Neville collapsed -

“The kids, get to the kids!” Wade was shouting at her. He was running alongside her, his sword flashing, spells flying hither and yon. Across from her, behind the dais, Rane could see Kingsley dueling a masked Death Eater, his wand flying wildly.

“Hermione!” Rane shouted. Hermione turned to Rane, her eyes wild.

“Rane!” she shouted. “Rane, they want the Prophecy! Harry’s got it!”

Rane spun, looking for him, and found him again in the fray, being strong-armed by a Death Eater. And yes, there was something gripped tightly in one of his hands, throwing off a strange, ethereal glow.

 _“Incendio!”_ she shouted, and the Death Eater relinquished his grip on Harry at once, his sleeve erupting in flames. And now Rane saw Sirius appear at Harry’s side, shoving his head down as more spells flew over them.

“Listen, you guys need to get out of here,” said Rane, gripping Hermione’s arm. “Get the rest of them, and go through that door we came in, we’ll meet you -”

“GIVE ME THE PROPHECY, POTTER!” a furious voice roared, and suddenly Rane felt the wind knocked out of her as someone ran into her full tilt. She fell onto the stone hard, all the air whooshing out of her, and felt her sword clatter out of her hand, where it landed glittering some ways away from the fray. Nearby, she could hear Hermione shouting her name.

Rane struggled to get up, but then there was a hand at her throat, squeezing, and she was staring up into the unmasked face of Rodolphus Lestrange, his pallid face warped in a sneer. With his other hand he held his wand, its tip pointed at Rane’s face.

“Little Elf girl doesn’t know how to fight without her sword,” he hissed at her.

“Sure - she - does!” Rane gasped, and suddenly Lestrange’s face contorted with pain. He rolled off of her, howling in agony. The silvery hilt of her kukri protruded from his shoulder up to its crossguard.

Rane leapt to her feet at once, shoving Lestrange out of the way, and with a quick, brutal motion she yanked the dagger back, spraying blood in a sheen and ignoring Lestrange’s shriek of pain. The first face her eyes fell upon was that of Bellatrix Lestrange, who had her wand aimed at Rane, her face twisted with rage.

“FILTHY HALF-BREED!” she screamed, and then there was a bright green bolt of light flying towards Rane. She knew a moment of true fear, the first of that night; her sword still lay beyond the mangled Rodolphus Lestrange, far from her reach, and she didn’t have enough time to draw her wand on it, not a chance in hell -

Suddenly, a massive, shimmering golden shield of light manifested before her, and Bellatrix’s spell dissolved into nothing as it struck. Bellatrix gave a scream of fury, looking over Rane’s shoulder, and darted away towards the dais. Bewildered, Rane turned her head.

“Dubbledore!” a voice said nearby, sounding reverent.

 _“What?”_ That was Ginny, sounding bewildered.

“DUBBLEDORE!” it was Neville, and he was pointing madly, his crushed nose still gushing. Above them, standing near the door with his wand extended towards Rane, was Albus Dumbledore. Rane knew a moment of transported relief. Order members or no, the Death Eaters wouldn’t dare take him on, never in life.

He was rushing down toward the fray in an instant, and Rane saw with a fierce jolt of satisfaction that the Death Eaters that had seen him were indeed giving up arms, shouting in fear. One of them - she thought it was Malfoy - went scrabbling up the stairway opposite the doorway Albus had come through, falling over himself, but Albus lifted his want almost lazily and the Death Eaters nearest him flew back towards him as if with an invisible rope, their wands clattering from their hands.

And now there was only one pair who hadn’t noticed Albus yet; Bellatrix had been caught in flight by Sirius, who was dueling her near the strange stone arch. Sirius was dodging her spells, laughing, his hair flying about his face.

“You can do better than that!” he shouted at her mockingly.

“AVADRA KEDAVRA!” Bellatrix shouted, and the jet of light hit Sirius squarely in the chest.  


RANE’S dagger fell to the ground with a clang, though she was not aware of it. She saw Sirius’s face, the smile still falling away from it, fading into something akin to fear and surprise. His wand arm slackened as he fell backwards, through the strange veil. It fluttered as if in a high wind, and then he was gone.  
Bellatrix was shrieking, and so was Harry. Rane was walking towards the archway slowly, as if in a daze, her wand falling from her free hand, her brow furrowed. She had to reach him, to pull him back through the archway, though she didn’t see him . . . He was on the other side, had to be . . . 

There were hands now on her arm, and she shook them off, still making for the archway. Nearby, Rane could hear Harry screaming Sirius’s name.

“No, no, no,” said her father at her side, renewing his grip on her. One of his arms stole out, wrapped itself around her chest, and she struggled against it.

“Let me go,” she said, jerking away. But Wade would not. “Let me go, I have to go get him -”

“Baby, no,” said Wade, holding her fast. He had dropped his sword too, and it lay next to him on the floor now, forgotten. “No. He’s not there.”

Harry, close, shouting HE IS NOT DEAD.

“Dad,” said Rane, her voice breaking as she struggled to get away from him. He didn’t understand, Sirius was right there, he had just fallen through -

“He’s gone, baby, he’s gone,” Wade said, and Rane heard the emotion thickening his voice. It terrified her. “We have to go, Rane, the Ministry, they -”

Rane shook him off, finally breaking free of him, turning to him. Her face was transported with anger, her mouth turned down in a moue of dismay.

“I’M NOT LEAVING HERE WITHOUT HIM!” she shouted. Wade stared at her, his eyes bright in the gloom. She turned from him, looking towards the dais. Kingsley was there now, taking up the duel with Bellatrix; the remaining Death Eaters were bound in the center of the room, struggling feebly against Dumbledore’s spell. Tonks lay unconscious near the stairway, Mad-Eye knelt over her. “SIRIUS!”

And now Kingsley was being blasted away from the dais, and Bellatrix was fleeing away towards the stairs, deflecting the spells aimed at her.

It was Harry’s voice near her that did it, sounding not just angry but wrought with rage, with pain.

“SHE KILLED SIRIUS! SHE KILLED HIM!”

The strength seemed to run out of Rane’s legs. She fell to her knees, her hair hanging in her face, staring at the dais. Someone was screaming; after a moment she realized it was her.

“Rane!” Wade shouted at her, his voice strangely muffled, and Rane was distantly aware that the shadows around her were growing longer, the dimness around them was diminishing. Her skin felt cold, so cold, and now there was light pouring out of her pores. “RANE, NO!”

She was rising now into the air, and the group of Death Eaters were staring up at her in silent terror now. The sensation within her was swelling, turning into something self-sustaining and beyond her.

“ALBUS!” Remus was shouting. “DO SOMETHING!”

And then there was a brilliant flash of indigo light, and Rane knew no more.


	26. The Hospital Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane awakens far from the Ministry, stricken with the horror of the night's events.

Rane did not come to sluggishly this time, as she had in the times before when she'd lost control. In the forest outside of Ylle Thalas, she'd been knocked out cold for the best part of a full night; after Lordran had poisoned her, she hadn't woken for days. This night, when she awoke, it had been only hours.

When she came to, she was in a bed, but it was not at Grimmauld Place. It was at Hogwarts, in the hospital wing.

When her eyes opened, she was looking at the billowing curtains at the end of the wing. Outside, the sky was dark, star-studded, For a moment she watched them fluttering in the wind, their shape curving and stretching, trying to place herself, trying to recall why there was a deep, terrible ache inside her, as if someone had scooped out her insides and left her barren and empty. But nothing would come to her, not now.

She sat up, turning from the window, looking down at herself. The blanket over her was pulled down to her waist, and she could see blood on one thigh, spreading up to the sleeve of her shirt. Her sword's sheath hung at her waist, empty, and the pocket where her dagger lived was, too.

She turned her head. There were four people standing there; Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Wade Roth, and another man that Rane vaguely recognized.

"Dad?" she said, her brow furrowed. Her eyes traveled to the four wands trained at her. "What are you doing?"

The voice that emanated from her throat was hoarse and strange, and for a moment Rane hardly recognized it as her own. It was cracked and grating from the screaming she'd done. The crying. In some other place, where something had happened, something so terrible her mind would not allow her to remember.

"Rane," said Wade. "Don't let it take you over."

Rane looked from him, to Dumbledore, to Lupin, to the man who sat beside her father. He was sallow, with oily black hair and a piercing gaze, and suddenly as she looked at him she remembered -

\- Sirius falling -

\- the light striking him in the chest -

\- Harry screaming -

She was on her feet in an instant, the blanket thrown from her. All four men before her lifted their wands.

"What happened?" she breathed. "Where's Sirius?"

"Rane," said Remus gently. "Sit down. Please."

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked him sharply.

Remus gestured to the bed behind her. "Sit down and we will explain -"

"He was hit with a spell, he fell through that - that arch thing - but then someone Stunned me, and he . . . I didn't see him get back out, I must have . . . I just, I need to see him."

She looked at her father with bleak, almost childlike pleading.

"Dad, where is he?" she said quietly, her voice breaking.

"I need you to sit down, Rane," said her father, very soft. His wand had not moved yet; it was still aimed directly at her, unwavering.

Rane looked from his wand to his face, then slowly lowered herself back down onto the bed. The sheets were cool beneath her palms. She looked at him, her eyes bright beneath her brows.

"I'm sitting," she said, barely more than a whisper.

An awful silence fell between the five of them. Rane's harsh breathing was the only sound.

"Rane," said Wade, "you hush now and listen to me. You listen to your dad."

He took a breath, as if steadying himself. His own eyes were overbright, his brows contracted above them. He looked terribly pale. The corners of his mouth were turned down, and his lower lip had taken on the faintest tremble.

"Baby, Sirius didn't make it out of the Ministry tonight."

For a moment Rane could hear nothing except for her own breathing. It was harsh, almost gasping. Wade remained where he was, watching her, his throat working.

"No, he made it," she said faintly, looking at him. Incredibly, she felt a smile playing about her mouth. He was mistaken, _hilariously_ mistaken. "Dad, he made it. He _made_ it, he just fell down."

She turned her eyes to Remus, her smile fading. "Remus, _you_ saw him, he just fell. He just _fell_."

But Remus was shaking his head slowly. His eyes were swollen and red.

Rane stood again presently, looking between them. She could feel her heartbeat, hummingbird-quick, just beneath her shirt; her skin felt cold, so cold. There was a strange, low drone in the center of her head, like a battery, or a power line.

"Where is he?" she said softly.

Wade was lifting his wand higher now. " _Rane_ -"

But Rane was shaking her head slowly, and now her eyes were beginning to glow. The curtains at the end of the room were fluttering now, just gently.

"No," she said softly, not only a refusal of what she was hearing but a hopeless negation against the potency washing over her now, as swift and cold and inexorable as a riptide. She almost welcomed it for its kind release; relinquishing control to this power would be sweet respite, such a gentle relief from what was before her now. " _No_ . . ."

" _Control_ it!" said Wade sharply.

" _No_!" Rane gasped, and then words failed her as the energy in the center of her which had been creeping around her tenderly suddenly constricted fast like a fist. The shadows beneath her on the stone-flagged floor began to lengthen. The curtains were flailing wildly now, and the men before her stood against the sudden gale, their robes flapping madly.

"RANE!" said Wade loudly. "CONTROL IT!"

Rane's feet parted with the floor, and as the air around her began to thrum with energy, her hair floating in a lazy cloud around her head, she loosed a low, horrible, inarticulate cry from deep within herself. It echoed strangely around them.

"Rane, remember the Ministry!" Wade bellowed, his eyes wide, startlingly blue in the dim light. "He didn't fall, Rane, he was _Cursed_! You have to remember, and you _have_ _to_ _control_ _it_! Before _it_ controls _you_!"

"Headmaster!" the sallow man at Albus's side said loudly, looking at Rane with clear dismay. Albus lifted his free hand to his side at once.

" _Wait_ ," he commanded, his voice low.

And now a curious thing was happening, because Rane was standing before her bed, her eyes flickering between hazel and bright blue-white, the light emanating from her fractured like a strobe. All four men before her stood their grounds, their fists clenched and white-knuckled around their wands.

HE FELL, a strange voice within her insisted, inexorably persuasive, full of anger. WE SAW HIM FALL.

But Rane remembered now, as she hung before them, her hair flipping about her face wildly, her eyes flashing. She remembered the archway, and the green light hitting him. She remembered Sirius falling through. She remembered the look on his face, the light in his eyes whiffing out like a candle in a high wind. She struggled, tried to grasp this thing inside her, but it eluded her like water through her fingers, slippery, untrustworthy, and now the bed behind her was beginning to move backwards, its metal feet scraping against the stone . . .

"Rane," said Albus gently.

Rane's eyes fell upon him, her face contorted.

Albus was looking calmly up at her. He spoke three words, lost in the low thrum of the energy emanating from her, but Rane saw them on his lips and understood them all the same.

"He is gone."

And just like that, it evaporated. Rane dropped back to the floor in a heap, her long legs folding around her, staring at Albus. Wade, Remus and the man with the black hair held their wands trained on her still, but it seemed unnecessary now; nothing about her seemed threatening. Indeed, nothing about her seemed anything but wrought with agony. Her expression was bleak, entreating. The curtains at the end of the room had at last stilled.

"Gone?" she whispered. It was a question, but only just.

Albus rose and strode to her. He knelt before her, reached out and took one of her hands lightly. He looked at from above his half-moon glasses, his eyes bright. The sadness in those eyes terrified her.

"Oh, my dear one," he said softly, "I fear that he is, and that we must bear it."

Rane looked into his face, into the clear blue eyes that brooked no argument, and she lowered her head and burst into tears. And in that moment, though three trembling wands were trained on her, though three capable wizards stood ready to hex her into the abyss should she show her teeth, she looked like nothing now so much as a lean, coltish teenager, her hair hanging in her face, her shoulders heaving.

And then there were arms around her, and she recognized them not as her father's but as Remus's, and he held her tightly against him. She buried her face in his shoulder, smelling the light, earthy scent of him, gripping his shirt in her fist.

"Oh, Rane," he said quietly, and she heard the tears in his voice. "I am so sorry."

Remus held her close to him, and through the sounds of his gruff sobs Rane could hear the whistling wind through the open windows at the end of the hallway, lonely and low.

"WHAT happened to him?" Rane asked listlessly.

Remus, who had sat himself close beside her, reached out and took her hand where it lay like a dead fish on the blanket, and squeezed it. It had been half an hour since, and no one had spoken until now. Albus and Wade had sat on nearby beds, both looking weary and unhappy; the sallow man who had accompanied them stood to their right, his wand still held loosely at his side, watching Rane cautiously.

"It was Bellatrix," said Remus bitterly.

Rane lowered her head. She was staring at her knees; both of the knees of her jeans had been shredded in the fray, and she could see a fresh bruise rising on one of them from some shenanigans or another at the Ministry of Magic in the hours past, no doubt.

"I'll find her," said Rane, very softly.

"You'll do no such thing!" said Wade sharply.

Rane looked up at him from beneath her brows, her eyes suddenly blazing, and both Wade and Snape raised their wands at her immediately.

" _Im cerum ust-est_ ," she whispered, " _nim mel la-fern_."

What she had said - _I will do as I wish, for my sun has set_ \- was understood only by Wade, whose wand lowered at once as he stared at her, his expression twisting oddly at her words in a way only a parent witnessing his child's grief could. Her eyes were flames in the dim, glowing like coal; her mouth was turned down, a moue of grief, her brows drawn together, the corners of her lips lost in shadow. Her eyes were bright with tears.

"He wouldn't want that," Wade said, his voice thick.

Rane was on her feet again in an instant, and suddenly the bed behind her flew backwards with such force that it struck the far wall, bending the steel frame. It made a horrific, shrill sound and then fell with a clang, its forefront crumpled. Remus, who had stood just in time, stood staring at it in shock.

"WHAT _IS_ IT HE WOULD WANT, IF NOT THAT?" she shouted.

Rane's feet parted with the floor again, and it seemed that this time they were all done for, because in the space of a second every bed within ten feet of Rane had gone shooting across the floor at the wall in a rush. The sound of the bed frames colliding with the stone walls was deafeningly loud.

"I'LL KILL HER," she said, her voice echoing.

"You do him a disservice, then," said Dumbledore.

Rane looked at him. He looked back at her calmly.

"Sirius would not have wanted that," he went on softly.

"You know what Sirius would have _wanted_?" she said loudly.

Dumbledore looked at her in calm silence.

"Sirius would want to be alive!" she said. "He would want to be ALIVE! THAT'S what he'd want!"

"Rane," said Dumbledore.

"WHAT ABOUT OUR BABY?" Rane shouted. Her eyes were voracious, animal-like in their fury, but now there were tears rolling down her cheeks. "WHAT ABOUT ME? WHAT ABOUT _US_?"

The chandelier above them was rattling ominously now, its clanging chimes very loud.

"Headmaster!" said Snape warily, eyeing her. "We were to Stun her if she - !"

"Listen to me, Rane," said Dumbledore, ignoring Snape. "Sirius loved nothing more in this world than you and Harry. He would not want either of you rushing off to murder Bellatrix Lestrange on his behalf. There are a great many things I do not know about him - he was a complicated man, as you know - but I do know that. And I believe both you and Harry know that, too."

The thought of Harry shook Rane deep down in a way nothing else had. She'd nearly forgotten, in her grief, that Sirius had been loved by many, not just by her. She remembered, suddenly and jarringly, the sound of him screaming his Godfather's name. The anger, the furor. Things she felt now. Things she well knew.

In the corner, one of the broken bed frames fell to the floor with a ringing clang.

"If we are to continue to allow you to stay at Hogwarts," said Albus, gentle but firm, "I must ask you to control yourself, Rane. For the sake of yourself as well as our students and staff.'

Rane looked at him for a moment, then dipped a hand into her pocket for her wand and came up empty. She looked at her father.

"Where is it?" she asked him listlessly.

Wade patted his jeans pocket. "Got your dagger too."

Rane sighed. "I just wanted to fix -"

She glanced around her guiltily. Albus lifted his wand at once, however, and the beds around them returned to their rightful places in a whirl of sheets. Remus sat beside her, showing no sign of reticence in spite of her outburst, which she appreciated rather a lot.

"Thanks, Albus," said Rane, sitting back down.

THIS is Professor Severus Snape," Albus said.

Rane, who was staring listlessly at the stone-flagged floor, lifted her eyes slowly. She could not be less interested in making this man's acquaintance; indeed, she could not be less interested in much of anything. All the piss and vinegar had left her; she felt like a husk of a creature. Her insides felt like a whistling hollow, a sterile place where nothing could grow or live. What she wanted was to sleep, to embrace the nothingness of it and forget about all of this for a few hours. But it seemed Dumbledore had other plans for her. He was looking at her now not with pity but with expectation. _Now is not the time to fall apart_ , those eyes said. _Now is the time to do your duty_. And he was right, wasn't he? She wasn't an Auror, not anymore, but she still belonged to the Order of the Phoenix, and to that she had to hold true. To her duty. To her job. What else was there now, if not that?

"Severus Snape," she repeated. She looked into his eyes. He was staring at her from over his hooked nose, looking vaguely scornful. She nodded to him. "Pleasure. Sorry you had to see me like this."

"Not at all," said Severus, faintly derisive.

"Severus is a . . . a friend of ours from Hogwarts," said Wade quietly, glancing sidelong at him. He had finally lowered his wand and stuffed it into his robes pocket, and now he was squatted next to the nearest cot, his hands clasped between his legs. His face was pale, almost ashen. "He's an Order member too. We're at Hogwarts," he added suddenly, looking at his daughter as if remembering an important fact he'd forgotten to mention. "This is the hospital wing. We brought you here after the . . . After the Ministry."

"I know," said Rane. She had been here many times as a student, but in truth she could have cared less where she was. There were only two things in her mind clanging against one another in a heedless ricochet: she was pregnant, and she would not see him again. She was pregnant, and she would not see him again.

"We have matters to discuss," said Albus, watching Rane carefully. "In the months to come, we will need you and Wade more than ever. Your efforts are not only invaluable but necessary."

"Yes," said Rane, still staring at the floor. Remus squeezed her hand gently, and she felt a sudden, bright gratitude for him, so terribly potent it nearly undid her. Remus had not left her side; he was sat close enough for their hips to touch, one arm around her shoulders. She felt tears spring to her eyes, and swiped at her face with the heels of her hand. And now, something else was occurring to her, something she had not had occasion to even consider until now.

"What happened after I was out?" she said, forcing herself to look up at Albus. "Is anyone else -?"

"Voldemort appeared at the Ministry of Magic," said Dumbledore. "Cornelius Fudge witnessed him there, as did a score of Aurors who arrived at his heel. Harry was attacked."

Rane made a sudden motion, as if to stand. "Is he alright?"

"He is not hurt," said Dumbledore, and for a moment he lowered his head. "I will not go so far as to say he is all right. He is . . . He is grieving for his Godfather. And he is very angry with those he feels are responsible."

"I'd like to see him," said Rane quietly.

"That can be arranged," said Dumbledore at once.

"Headmaster, I hardly think it would be appropriate to allow Miss Roth access to the rest of the school grounds," Snape said silkily, eyeing Rane with clear distrust. "After what I have seen tonight, in particular. Our students -"

"Rane is an Order member," said Dumbledore. "A trusted one. She is welcome at Hogwarts."

Snape fell silent, still eyeing Rane.

"How are the rest of them?" Rane asked. "Ron and Hermione and Mad-Eye and all the rest?"

"See for yourself," said Wade, jerking his head towards the opposite end of the hospital wing.

Rane craned her neck and saw several figures in beds, all of them still asleep somehow even after the racket she'd been making, probably via a potion or spell of Albus's or making. On one pillow she saw the distinct red fluff of hair that could only belong to a Weasley.

"Mad-Eye's at St. Mungo's," said Remus. "He got thrown into a wall and knocked silly when it happened. Won't be the first time, he'll manage. And Tonks got a pretty bad thump on the head, but she'll come round."

"How did Cornelius take it?" Even in spite of her grief, Rane was curious.

Dumbledore sighed. "As well as could be expected. His days of skepticism have thankfully fallen behind us at last, but we are not in the clear yet."

"We think he'll be sacked," said Wade. "I give it a few weeks, maybe months if he's lucky. In any case I think he can kiss his ass goodbye."

Rane found her sympathy was limited for Fudge, who had fired her from her position as an Auror that previous Fall. With a pang, she found herself remembering the night she'd lost her job and shown up at Sirius's doorstep. She remembered looking in the mirror, wondering if she should just walk away. And had it been worth it? Was love worth it, if it meant you had to feel this way even for a single moment?

". . . job back," Remus was saying.

"Yeah," said Rane, assuming he'd said what she'd been thinking. "Maybe I will. Depends on who steps in next."

A brief silence fell between them. Rane had more questions - many more - but exhaustion was overcoming her quickly. Her grip on Remus's hand had loosened.

"We will discuss all of this at greater length in the morning," said Dumbledore, standing. He, too, looked tired. "But now, I believe that we are all exhausted and heartsick and we ought to get some rest."

The idea of going to her flat, where the chill and solitude were certain to sink into her bones like a cancer, filled Rane with woe at once. She looked up at Dumbledore, but he beat her to it, as always.

"I would very much like it if you would remain here tonight, Rane," he said. He gestured to the broad hospital wing, which was silent except for the chirp of crickets outside the window and Ron's distant snores. "Wade, Remus, the offer stands as well. We can pick up tomorrow morning over a proper Hogwarts breakfast."

RANE had pulled the blankets up to her ears and was staring out of the window, tears rolling silently down her face. The sounds of Remus's bedsprings squeaking as he got himself situated nearby and Dumbledore's and Snape's receding footsteps came behind her. The stars were glistening through the flapping curtains, shot through with bright streaks of yellow and white clouds.

She felt a weight fall at the side of her bed, behind her, and then her father's hand was on her forehead, smoothing back her hair gently. The springs squeaked and then he'd placed a kiss on her temple, in the same place Remus had.

"It's gonna be okay," Wade said quietly. "It will. I promise."

"I feel lost," said Rane in barely more than a whisper. Her chest felt empty with want of him, unfillable, voided in a horrible way. "I don't know what to do now." She gulped, feeling her chest hitch. "It feels . . . _Wrong_ . . ."

Wade was stroking her head. "That . . . _bitch_ ," he said, his voice suddenly cold with vitriol, and Rane felt a savage affection for him. He sighed, then added, "Elves don't do death well, baby. We sure don't. But we can, and we will. I miss him, too, baby. An awful, awful lot."

He bent and kissed her again, and this time Rane felt the dampness of his tears.

"I sure do love you, girl," he said, and then he had padded away. A moment later Rane heard him fall into his own bed, and then she was alone.


	27. The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rare chance to say goodbye . . .

It was snowing. Rane was on her back, staring up at a sky that was pockmarked with thick white clouds. Through the gaps between them she could see a midnight sky shot through with bright stars. How she'd come to be here she wasn't sure, but she felt no alarm, no distress. The ground beneath her was hard, the air bitterly cold, but even these things seemed unimportant, causing her no discomfort.

Rane sat up, looking down at herself. She was clad in her bed shorts and a tank top, though despite her exposed skin the chill was anything but unpleasant. A brief glance around her was all she needed to identify her surroundings; after all, she had spent hours beyond count here in some form or another. This was the outskirts of the Elven city of Ylle Thalas. The trees here were tall, thick and ancient, though their branches were bare. But the Elves had always brought life to that around them, if only in small ways; even in the dead of winter, the thick vines that twisted around the trees were emerald green, lively and affluent in spite of the snow. Beyond the trees to her left, she could see the distant glow of the city's blue fairy lights and the spires, made faint by the falling snow, stretching into the atmosphere.

Rane got to her feet, dusting the snow from her shorts. The forest around her was hushed in a way only falling snow can conjure. Somewhere a crow called harshly. The sound of her breathing, gentle and puffing out before her in a whitish mist, was low and gentle in the stillness. The wood seemed abandoned, as it should be at such an hour (although time seemed irrelevant here, too), but Rane was part-Elf, and though the silence was dense and almost stifling, she perceived a presence nearby. It was a strange feeling, as faint and delicate as the sensation of a breeze across the fine hairs on the back of her neck, but she recognized it for what it was nonetheless. It was an unmistakable intuition, something like perceiving light from behind closed eyelids; obvious, however slight.

She turned away from the distant city, looking for the source. And she found it almost at once in a tall, lean figure some ways off, striding towards her. Now the crunch of his bootheels in the snow was faintly audible. He wore a pair of jeans and a blue plaid shirt, one Rane recognized distantly. But his face was lost in shadow. She squinted at him, trying to see . . .

And then, as he neared, the dim lights from Ylle Thalas fell upon him through a pair of trees for a moment and Rane's breath caught in her throat.

"Sirius?"

Her voice was low, nothing more than a whisper, but as soon as his name had left her lips she knew it was him. And now she could see him much better as he neared, and any remaining doubt left her. How many times had she gazed upon that well-loved face, after all? She knew it better than she knew her own. Whether by some cruel spell or something else, it was him, it was really _him_.

It took everything in her not to shout his name again, so dreadful was her devastation. It was like a punch to the gut, salt on a fresh wound. There he was, looking not just alive but _vital_ , not only as handsome and well-formed as he'd been the day before but younger, stouter, his face round and well-fed. The shadows beneath his eyes were barely perceptible; his hair was black, glossy and free of the gray streaks that had flecked it in the last years of his life after Azkaban. And now here he was, feet away from her. She stood as motionless as a rabbit before a fox, her eyes wide, her heart racing, her fists clenched into trembling fists at her sides.

"Sirius?" she whispered. Her pleading, timid voice turned it into a question in earnest..

He was before her then, and his hands were on her cheeks, smoothing the hair from her face, and then the tears were flowing down from her eyes freely, because his touch felt so impossibly _there_ , so _present_. She could feel each finger, the roughness of his palms against her skin, could see the fog of his breath leaving his lips, intermingling with her own.

"You're not here," he whispered hoarsely, staring at him. "You can't be."

"I'm here,' Sirius told her gently, and the motion of his very breath moved the thin tendrils of hair from Rane's face, as if to punctuate this statement with its fidelity. "I'm as here as I can be, for a little while.

"Where are we?"

Sirius looked around him. "Dunno," he said, seemingly without much interest. "Looks like Iliwynn's place, a bit, doesn't it?"

He was looking towards the city itself, the fairy lights reflecting on his forehead. Rane watched him. She had taken both his hands and held them now in her own with panicky tightness.

"This is a dream. We're . . . I'm dreaming."

Sirius turned back to her, his eyes moving between hers. "Dunno," he said again. "I don't think so, not exactly. More like . . . Like visiting, I guess."

"We're here, then?"

"Sort of." Sirius shrugged, lax, still looking very much disinterested in the subject. "I imagine this is what it looks like, right now, yes. But if one of your cousins were to come walking out here I doubt they'd see anything."

Rane marked the pores in his cheeks, the stubble of beard on his chin, the flicking eyelashes below his brows as he blinked down at her. He _did_ seem to be here, didn't he? She could see the tendrils of stray hairs trembling in the gently moving air around them, the glisten of distant light in each of his eyes. She tried to allow herself to feel some relief, some reprieve . . .

Yet her memory was as astute as ever, and she could not believe it in spite of herself.

"I saw you die," she said softly, watching him.

Sirius's mouth turned down at the corners in a sharp, suddenly unhappy grimace, and he looked down, his eyes bright. She saw the glisten of tears falling away from his eyes into the nothingness, the flash of his eyelids as he blinked them away.

"You're dead?"

He fell silent. Rane waited, desperately hoping for some kind of refute.

"I'm sorry," said Sirius softly. "I'm sorry, Rane."

Rane reached out, gripped his face in both her hands, turned it towards hers. His skin was cold, so cold.

"The two of us are alone now," she said. "Without you, we're alone. You have to come back."

Sirius seemed to melt beneath her grip at these words. He knelt at Rane's feet, his face in his hands, not looking at her. For a long moment he remained there, motionless save the gentle shudder of his shoulders, his head bowed before him, the long column of his spine prominent and rutted beneath his shirt. Rane knelt, too, folding her legs beneath her in the snow and minding her belly, which was growing now. She kept one hand one it, as if for safekeeping; the other she placed on his cool cheek. At her touch he looked up at her, his cheeks damp. His hands were open in his lap, his palms turned towards the sky as if imploring for succor.

"I can't," he said.

Rane scoffed, her breath puffing out before her. "You're here now, though, Sirius, you can just -!"

But Sirius was shaking his head. He looked up at her at last, and Rane had never experienced a stranger moment in her long, peculiar life, because she was staring into the haunted eyes of a dead man. She felt herself almost recoil; she didn't understand how she could ever have seen vitality or liveliness in this face. This was a lifeless countenance, absolutely and without question. Worse, he seemed . . . Almost unfamiliar. This was the man she loved, the man she had shared a bed with for nearly a year, the man who she'd conceived her first child with, but . . .

"What is it?" she heard herself ask gently.

She didn't need an answer, though, because her instincts had already painted a hideous picture for her. This man was trying to escape a place that was not made for him, as foreign here as a fish on a riverbank or a palm tree in the Arctic. He was hanging on, perhaps only by a finger; he was here for _her_ , and that was all. He had remained behind to say goodbye to her. And at what cost to him? At what great pains had he lingered past his time?

"You shouldn't be here," she said before he could reply. He looked into her eyes and nodded, his mouth turned down.

"No," he said. "I can't stay." He hesitated, then added, "it hurts."

Rane looked at him in silent horror.

"It hurts me to stay," he repeated quietly, his eyes shining with effort. "But I had to. I had to say goodbye. I didn't want to . . . " He shook his head, his lips trembling. "I didn't want to leave without seeing you again. But I can't stay, Rane. I can't."

Rane grasped his hands tightly. She leaned forward, the tears flowing from her eyes now.

"Then I guess you have to go."

Sirius half-laughed, half-sobbed, shaking his head. He lifted one hand away from hers and wiped her tears away gently.

"You're the best one. The best of all of us." He sniffed, still smiling sadly. "I wouldn't give any of it up. Not for anything. Not even after this."

Rane bent and pressed her warm mouth against his cool one, feeling the roughness of his beard against her cheek for the last time.

" _Auta canceller naa n'at palurin san'sina_ ," she said. Her words were silky in the cool air, and she felt Sirius relax at the sound of them.

"What does it mean?" he asked her.

She smiled through her tears. "You mean you don't know?"

He smiled back wanly. "Being dead doesn't mean you know everything, apparently."

"What a gyp."

Sirius laughed again, the sound coming out mostly sob, looking into her eyes.

"It means, 'Go, then, there are other worlds than this,'" she said. "Iliwynn says it, when one of them goes on."

The sound now was just a sob, and his smile had faded. He looked at her, the tears streaming.

"I love you," said Rane. "I love you always. I love you the most."

"Constantly," said Sirius hoarsely. He bent and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "For the rest of it. The most."

"Remember us," said Rane. She was weeping freely now. "Remember us. Don't forget it. Any of it. Wherever you go."

Sirius was standing now, and she with him. She had never seen him weep, never in life, but here he was now in death, wracked by it. His tears stained the snow beneath them.

"I could never forget you," he said. "Neither of you."

He turned his head towards the direction he'd come. The snow was falling harder and faster now. Above them, the clouds moved swiftly.

"It's starting to go away," he told her. "I have to go."

He touched her belly gently, watching her.

"Keep her safe, always."

"Don't go."

Rane hated the supplication in her voice, but she said it nonetheless, and never mind how selfish it was, how heedless to his pain. But he bent nonetheless, taking her by the shoulders, and placing his forehead against hers. They stood that way, weeping, for a moment that seemed to last a lifetime. Around them, the forest of Ylle Thalas was beginning to fade into something like thick white mist. It circled around them like a cyclone, moving the ends of their hair.

"I have to," he said, still sobbing.

Then he kissed her forehead, and without looking at her again he turned and began to walk away. As she watched his back diminishing, Rane was stricken with a horrifying thought.

"Sirius!"

Sirius turned, the miasma beneath his feet rippling.

"If I'm immortal," she said, "will I ever see you again?"

Sirius shook his head gently, smiling at her through his tears.

"You aren't," he said. "Only strong."

"Then wait for me!"

"I will wait for you," said Sirius. "At the end of the path."

He smiled at her, a warm and grateful smile lit with the shine of the tears on his cheeks. Then he turned and strode away, and soon he was enveloped by the mist.

"Sirius!" Rane shouted into the dim. " _Sirius_!"

But he was gone.


	28. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Rane decide where to go from here.

When Rane next opened her eyes, it was to a beautiful summer morning. The glistening night before had been replaced with a bright blue sky, cloudless and exultant. The glint of the sun behind Hogwarts was visible as a blinding glitter on the lake below, and the bows of the green trees were swaying gently in the wind. The merry twitter of birds, startlingly loud, was audible through the window, which had been eased open sometime in the morning. The curtains rippled merrily against the sweet-smelling breeze that wafted in, stirring the tendrils of hair on Rane's forehead as she lay beneath her quilt.

For a moment she was stricken only with a sunny optimism, and the queer, dizzy realization that she was at Hogwarts in the familiar hospital wing, haunt of her often mischief-laden youth. Was this Fifth Year again, when she'd broken her shoulder falling off a broom during her one disastrous Quidditch tryout? Or perhaps Second Year, when she'd been practicing a hex and it had rebounded upon her and caused vines to sprout from her fingers and toes for a week? Or maybe it was Seventh Year, when after weeks of clandestine and sometimes perilous research she'd finally managed to transfigure pumpkin juice into surprisingly disagreeable (and strong) vodka, and after a makeshift celebration of her triumph she and several other Gryffindors had shown up en masse at the hospital wing in mingled tears and laughter, preposterously drunk? How Madame Pomfrey had shrieked in outrage! And how many grueling nights of detention had they endured for their crimes? How many of their fellow students had begged her for the recipe once the deed was done? How many times had her father promised to ground her for the remainder of her teen years for that transgression?

Then, in a rush, it returned to her that Sirius had died.

Rane sat up quickly, the quilt falling off of her, staring into a blue sky that seemed suddenly hateful. She swung her legs over the side of her bed, rested her feet on the floor, hung her head there for a moment with both of her hands at her sides, gripping the sides of the bed with panicky tightness. She could feel the flesh of her thighs trembling minutely, as if she'd just sprinted. She hung her head, and for a moment she watched the stone-flagged floor beneath her, the gently undulating light from the windows rippling across it tenderly. Her teardrops darkened the stone: one, two, three times. At the same time, she acknowledged with a heavy heart that this feeling, this shocking recollection of the absence of Sirius followed by the jolting, bitter grief resurging, would be no stranger to her in the coming days, weeks, months. Years, mayhap. And nothing but the slow passage of time would allay its sting, only time would soothe the screaming of her anguish into a sob and then into the low moan of a scar. And perhaps then she'll have forgotten him altogether, perhaps then she'd have nothing but the echoing whisper of the ghost of him, of the ghost of their love. Perhaps by then she wouldn't remember the smell of him, his voice, the way he -

"No."

She spoke it aloud through gritted teeth. No, that would not be how it was. She was more apt to forget her own name.

She lifted her head, swiping at her cheeks with the heel of her hands and rising to her feet in one hasty motion, her brows knitted. The hospital wing was empty save the beds at the far end, which, it seemed, were still occupied by the survivors of the previous night. Rane could pick out Hermione, Ginny and Ron, as well as two others that she didn't recognize. Harry was notably not among them.

Rane pulled her robe from where it hung on her bedpost and strode towards the door to the corridor.

IT had been years since Rane had been properly inside Hogwarts, and even her grief would not completely allow her to ignore the powerful sensation of homecoming. When she strode into the Great Hall, it was as if she had stepped through a wormhole and become fifteen all over again. The candles floating above the house tables . . . The staff, seated neatly at the fore . . . The ceiling, a rippling mass of blue and gold that mirrored the lovely morning sky. It was familiar and dear to her.

Rane met Dumbledore's eyes, and he nodded to her briskly. She nodded back to him. Her father wasn't in evidence, nor was Remus. But Rane saw a face she recognized nonetheless. Harry was sitting at the Gryffindor table, quite alone, staring into an untouched plate of sausages. Rane could not see the expression on his face, but she knew what he was feeling. Oh, did she.

She made her way up the Gryffindor table and touched his shoulder gently. Harry started, looking up at her.

"Rane!" he said, sounding surprised. "I thought you'd gone!"

"I wanted to talk to you first," said Rane. She lifted her chin at his unscathed breakfast. "You gonna eat that or you feel like taking a walk with me?"

Harry glanced down at his sausages.

"Dunno," he said. "I don't feel much like eating."

"Makes two of us."

Harry got to his feet. "C'mon, we can go to the grounds."

THE Hogwarts grounds, even so early on a Sunday morning, were already lively with patrons. It was June, after all; finals were nearly finished, lessons nearly through with them, and summer break was on the very horizon, its beckoning liberty clearly driving everyone around them mad with want. Moreover, the gorgeous weather had drawn them outside like flies; many of them were sunbathing, talking, reading, their robes discarded in careless heaps at their sides, gesticulating with avid and clear happiness. It would have been a peach of a morning any other day. As Rane walked alongside Harry, she wondered if he was thinking what she would have been thinking, were she him; wishing he could be sitting in the grass with friends, perhaps Ron and Hermione, maybe throwing a Snitch around. Instead, he was grieving his Godfather, the closest thing to family he'd ever known, and gone all too soon. She knew a moment of fierce affection for him that overshadowed her own anguish.

"What are you thinking?" she asked him.

Harry sighed and sat down on the bank of the lake. Rane sat beside him, crossing her legs before her and leaning back on her elbows. The sun was warm on her skin.

"It was my fault," he said, very softly.

Rane scoffed at once. "Harry, come on."

"No, really."

"Oh, please, I saw this coming a mile away." She looked over at him, her eyebrows high. "Humor me, how do you figure this was in _any_ way your fault?"

Harry passed a hand over his face. He stared out at the lake, where the tentacles of the giant squid could be perceived rolling about just below the surface.

"Kreacher told me that Sirius was at the Ministry," said Harry. "Sirius went to the Ministry because he thought I was in trouble. I went because I thought Sirius was in trouble. If I had just . . . Just . . ."

"Just what?"

"Just . . ." Harry made a sound of frustration. He was pulling chunks of grass out of the ground with his fists, seemingly without realizing it. "I should have known better!. I was such an _idiot_ , I should have -!"

"That's bullshit and you know it."

Harry sighed and lowered his head, his glasses flashing in the sun.

"Look, you wouldn't understand."

"Oh, _wouldn't_ I?" said Rane derisively.

Harry looked at her, his brows narrowed.

"Harry, Sirius was a grown ass man," she said quietly. "He was the one that decided to go. All this coulda, woulda, shoulda isn't doing you any favors. Probably the opposite, to be honest."

"Look," said Harry, sounding scathing, "you wouldn't understand, you've never lost anyone, and -"

"Harry, my whole life has been about losing people," said Rane. "I spent the first ten years of my life being excommunicated by my mom and her family, and you bet your ass that hurt. The rest of it, I've been debarred by an entire race because of my parents' decision. I promise you, I know what it's like."

Harry sighed deeply, not looking at her.

"But if I hadn't believed what Kreacher said to me, he might still be alive," he said, low.

"Yeah, well, all aboard the blame train," said Rane sardonically, glancing alongside at him and smiling wanly at him. "No one is responsible for it except for . . . For that woman."

"Bellatrix."

"Yes," said Rane tightly. "Bellatrix."

"I tried to duel her, y'know," said Harry. "After you'd - well, y'know - gone all odd - I chased her into the foyer."

Rane smiled up at the sky. "That was brave as hell," she said. "Also pretty fucking stupid. But . . . Mostly brave."

Harry smirked at her good-naturedly, but much like Rane, he didn't seem to have it in him to laugh.

"D'you reckon we'll go after her?"

" _We_?"

Harry gesticulated vaguely. "You . . . The Ministry . . . The Order . . ."

"The Ministry hasn't been able to keep its own pants above its asscheeks for several years now, let alone go charging off after Death Eaters, for one thing -"

"Right, right, well - well, the Order, then," Harry admitted,. "And you. And Professor Lupin, and Dumbledore . . ."

Rane looked down at Harry, who was looking back up at her with a fierce expression on his face. She hesitated.

"Harry," she said slowly, "I don't know that Sirius would want us to -"

"He _would_!" said Harry.

Rane shook her head, bringing her knees up and resting her forearms on them. She stared down at him for a moment, then squinted out at the lake again, which was sparkling with sunlight. She could feel Harry's eyes on her.

"You don't want to?"

Rane snorted. "Harry, I want to go after her right this second," she told him honestly. "Believe you me. Matter of fact, I would have gone last night, when we got back from the Ministry, if Dumbledore and Remus hadn't stopped me. I was ready to murder her. Very, very ready."

"Yeah?"

"'Course. I loved him, Harry. He was the love of my life. Who wouldn't feel that way, in the whole world? Who wouldn't?"

She was silent for a moment, pondering this, and then, feeling Harry's eyes on her, she glanced down at him. He was looking at her with a combination of hope and fear, and she felt a sick jolt in her belly at the sight of it.

"You _could_ , though," Harry said. "You _could_ do it, I've seen what you can do with your . . . With your powers, or whatever they are - it'd be easy, it'd be quick -!"

"I could, sure," she said quietly. "But I wouldn't do that, Harry, not unless she . . . Well, not unless I had no other choice. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."

"Better to be blind than roll over."

Rane glanced down at Harry, slightly taken aback. He was glaring off across the lake now, where Rane could see a young couple with Hufflepuff scarves wrapped around each of their necks making out with abandon on the shoreline. His brow was dark.

"The Elves have a saying -"

"I don't bloody care about what the Elves have to say!" Harry snapped abruptly, glaring up at her.

Rane waited expressionlessly. At length, Harry looked away, his eyes softening.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," said Rane, heedless. "The Elves say, _mani lle uma lomi ten'oio_. Do you want to know what that means?"

Harry said nothing. He was staring off broodingly across the grounds again.

"It means," said Rane without pause, "that . . . Harry. Look at me."

Harry did.

"It means that what you do echoes forever," said Rane softly. "Do you understand?"

"No, I bloody well don't," Harry grumbled. "I don't understand a great lot of things right now, Rane."

Rane sighed, leaning back.

"It means that nothing we do is without consequence. _Everything_ has a consequence. _Everything_. Every tiny, stupid little thing you do. It's like ripples in a lake. They grow. And the tiny little waterbugs on the shore that made them, they can't see where those ripples go, but the crows circling around, they can. The Elves are those crows. And the rest of us are those bugs. We have to make sure our ripples don't turn into waves. Do you get it?"

Harry stared off, brooding. "And what in bloody hell does that have to do with Sirius?" he murmured. The wind was playing through his messy hair and the shadows beneath his eyes looked pronounced even in the sunlight. For a moment he looked much older than fifteen, much older indeed.

"You think that if you decide to go after Bellatrix, that'll be it?" said Rane. "That'll just be the end of it? And you'll feel much, much better about the whole thing, and we'll all live happily ever after?"

Harry blinked. "I . . . well, I dunno . . . "

"Think about everyone that would suffer for it. Hermione and Ron come to mind right away . . . And I bet they wouldn't let you take off alone, would they? So that puts it to the three of you. Then we have Hermione's parents . . . Molly, Arthur, all the Weasleys . . . What about Remus? And Tonks? What about Dumbledore? What about the Order? Do you think the Death Eaters would turn the other cheek if someone offed one of their highest ranking officers? D'you think Voldemort would? D'you think he hasn't already considered that you or I might do that? The odds that the three of you, or me and the baby, got out of that situation alive are practically nil, and _then_ what? What about the war? What about _everybody_ _else_?"

Harry continued to yank grass out of the soil and said nothing.

"Harry, if I thought for a _second_ that charging off after Bellatrix would fix _anything_ about this . . . This completely _fucked_ up situation we're in after last night, you bet your ass I'd already be knocking on her front door," said Rane. "And you're right, I know if I wanted to bushwhack her, I could do it. Easy as you please and there'd be nothing left of her. It's all the more difficult for it."

She paused, ran her fingers through her hair and sighed deeply, looking out across the lake.

"I know you miss him. I miss him, too. But it's a fool's errand, it's a selfish idea, and the only point of it is to make us feel better. It wouldn't serve us well. Not any of us. And I know," she said quickly as Harry opened his mouth to retort, "that you think Sirius would've done that if it had been you or I instead of him, and you might even be right, you know how he was."

A smile touched Harry's mouth. "Yeah. Yeah, he was an absolute madman sometimes."

Rane snorted in spite of herself, and suddenly the image of Sirius came to her, lying on his back, one arm slung around her in the bed they shared, laughing up at the ceiling, his face transported with mirth. The world doubled and trebled before her, and she swiped at her eyes hastily.

"Yep, he was," she said gruffly. "He might have done something like that, sure, I dunno. Probably, even. But Harry, _we_ _aren't_ _him_. And what I do know is that Sirius wouldn't want either of us to do anything that would endanger us. Or the Order. Or our baby."

Harry sighed, looking at his knees. "Right."

"Besides," said Rane darkly. "She'll get hers sooner or later."

"You reckon?"

"I know," said Rane. "I know she will. Violent lives have violent ends, Harry. It's one of those things that always comes back around. Believe me, it'll catch up to her."

Harry sighed. A moment of silence passed between them in which the twittering of birds, the water lapping gently against the shore and the distant laughter and shrieks of students across the lake could be heard.

"There's something I want to ask you," said Rane slowly. She hesitated briefly, fingering the hem of her jeans. "The baby . . . We wanted you to be the godfather."

Harry looked up at her, genuinely surprised. "Blimey," he said. " _Me_?"

"Yeah." Rane looked down at him slightly anxiously. "No pressure, of course, if you don't want to, I _completely_ -"

"Yes!" Harry interrupted her. He was grinning, a genuine grin, the first Rane had seen grace his face that morning. "Yes, of course!"

"Yeah?" Rane was grinning too, delighted in spite of herself.

"Yeah!"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, of course!"

Rane slung an arm around Harry's shoulders and squeezed him to her. "You're a good egg," she said fondly. "You are."

They sat that way for a moment, watching the students across the lake. A single tentacle, shining and sucker-studded, rose from the sparkling surface and then vanished into its depths again.

"I need to go find my dad and head home," Rane said.

Harry pulled back and looked at her. "Where will you go?" he asked. "Your flat? Grimmauld Place?"

"Dunno," said Rane. Each option seemed more morose than the last, and the idea of going to either her dismal, lonesome flat or to headquarters, surely now markedly devoid of Sirius Black (will his bed still smell like him? Were his robes still discarded in a heedless heap near his bed from the last time they made love?), struck her with an almost insufferable dread. "I dunno yet. Neither sounds very good. I guess I feel a little lost."

Harry got to his feet and offered Rane a hand. She took it gratefully. When she stood before him, she was somewhat surprised to note that he was now easily as tall as she was. How had she not noticed that before?

"Reckon I should go see Ginny and Ron in the hospital wing," he said, glancing towards the castle dubiously.

"Hermione's there too," Rane told him, following his gaze. "They were still passed out when I left this morning."

"Right," said Harry, looking back to Rane.

They regarded one another in silence for a moment.

"Will you . . . I dunno . . ." Harry hesitated. "Will you write?"

Rane snorted. "'Course I will. I'm not going anywhere."

Harry laughed. "Excellent."

Rane hugged him tightly to her suddenly. She felt him stiffen against her, but only momentarily.

"You take care of yourself, Harry Potter," she told him. "And stay the goddam hell in touch. You know where to find me."

"'Course," said Harry against her shoulder. "'Course I will."

Rane drew back and clasped Harry's cheeks in her hands. "Stay safe. You'll hear from me."

She ruffled his hair briefly, offered him a wan smile, and turning on her heel strode towards the castle.

WADE was standing on the staff platform at the head of the Great Hall, speaking to Dumbledore and looking markedly out of place in a pair of jeans, boots, a blue chambray shirt and a massively thick black belt from which his sheathed sword hung. A number of breakfasting students were eyeing him curiously. As Rane approached, she caught sight of Professor McGonagall striding off towards the Gryffindor common room and shouting orders at students, and for a moment she wished bitterly that she'd gotten here a moment or two sooner. She'd have liked to say hello.

"Minerva was just asking about you," Dumbledore said as she drew near, following her gaze. "I have no doubt she would have loved to stay and chat, but alas, the summer has seized our students like a fever . . ."

"You alright, girl?" Wade asked, rubbing Rane's back and looking down at her. His eyes looked red-rimmed and his face was scruffy and unshaven. "Feeling okay today?"

"Getting there," Rane lied

"These are yours, I believe."

Wade pulled her wand and her dagger from his jeans pocket, handing them to her. She took them gratefully, stuffing them into her own pocket.

"Thanks," she said, low, She looked from her father to Albus. "What's happening? What's going on? What's the plan?"

"The plan is for you to get out of here and get some rest," said Wade. "Albus and I will -"

"No," said Rane. "I want to be involved in what's happening."

"There's no need, Rane -"

"What else am I going to do?" said Rane, a trifle truculently. "Sit around and mourn Sirius?"

Wade sighed. "Alright," he conceded. "Alright, fine. Sounds like we're going to need to do some envoy work. You're welcome to help if you want. I could use it."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, catching her eye. "It will be crucial to strengthen our allies in the coming months."

"We'll head out right away," said Wade, clapping his daughter on the shoulder. She felt a rush of gratitude towards him. Anything was better than going back to Grimmauld Place, where Sirius would be everywhere. "There'll be Elyfalume on our side already, but there's Ymalond to the south and Unalmel in Wales, for starters -"

"Don't forget Thyshys," Rane pointed out. "They're almost as big as Elyfalume."

"Right, Thyshys too. Rane, what about America?"

"They were nice enough when I visited them in the fall," she said contemplatively. "Arletalos in the Midwest and Ylahiil in Texas were willing enough. There are more, though. Give us a month and we can hit most of them."

Dumbledore looked between them. "Do what you can," he said. "Report back to me when you are able."

"Where's Remus?" Rane asked.

"He is gone," said Dumbledore. "He gives you his love. He has a mission of his own."

Rane glanced sidelong at her father, who was looking back at her.

"We face dark times," said Dumbledore gravely. "I am grateful for both of you. And for the Elves."

"I'll get my job back," said Rane suddenly. "Once Fudge is shitcanned. Which he will be, don't you think?"

"Without a doubt," said Wade with clear relish. "He's got one foot out the door already. Give it a week for the _Daily Prophet_ to catch up to him."

A moment of silence passed between them.

"We'll be in touch, Albus," said Wade. "Keep us in the know."

"As ever, old friend," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Stay safe."

Rane and Wade turned together and strode off down the Great Hall, between the tables full of students. Heads turned and followed their progress with interest, perhaps wondering what circumstance necessitated their presence and their haste: a tall, imposing Elven man, his sword clanking against his lean hip, his bright blue eyes squinting ahead, his long blonde hair rippling down his back, and the half-Elf in low-slung jeans, the hilt of the spell-forged Elven blade of her grandfather visible in one back pocket, her arms crisscrossed with cuts from the prior night's excitement, her dark hair spilling down her lean back, her face hard and stern and startlingly beautiful in the orange morning light. The clacking of their bootheels were loud in the silence that fell as they passed.

"Where do we start?" said Rane, glancing at her father.

"We'll start at the beginning," said Wade.


	29. Idril

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane rushes to St. Mungo's

Wade Roth was not used to being startled. Indeed, as an Elf it was nigh on impossible to get the jump on him.

Presently he was reclining on the moth-eaten sofa in the livingroom of 12 Grimmauld Place, his feet crossed, one arm slung over his eyes and a copy of the Daily Prophet lying open on his chest, trying to catch a few winks before he was inevitably called away again. He'd had a very long week. They all had, really. In the months since Voldemort had appeared at the Ministry of Magic, the Death Eaters who had managed to escape capture had been not only active but positively audacious. Bridges demolished, Dementors on the loose, Muggles missing or worse . . . The Aurors had their work cut out for them.

Wade had taken to staying at Order headquarters simply for its proximity to the Ministry itself, as well as to Ylle Thalas, on which he had been calling frequently as well. His high-rise in Portsmouth had grown into nothing so much as a storage unit for his belongings in the last few months.

To make matters worse, the Elves had been targeted several times in Ylle Thalas. There had been no more casualties since the night that four guards were killed, fortunately, but the Death Eaters seemed emboldened by this rather than put off. Just that past weekend, the sentinels at the gates had fallen victim to several attempted Imperious curses, which meant that the safeguards at the land's borders had been compromised. Wade's personal conjecture - something he would never voice to his daughter - was that Rane's display of power in the Department of Mysteries had been the driving factor for these attacks. She'd frightened them, that was clear, and they'd been quite forthright about the Dark Lord's desire for her blood, especially since she'd been reinstated at the Ministry.

Once Fudge was sacked (a matter of weeks, it had been, and what a spectacularly just end to his reign), Rane had not only been given back her Auror duties, she'd been promoted. It seemed the new regime appreciated the import of the Elves' alliance where its predecessor had not. Wade liked Rufus Scrimgeour, politician or no; prior to becoming the Minister of Magic, he'd been a competent head of the Auror Office, where both Wade and Rane had enjoyed many encounters with him. He was tenacious, shrewd, and unflappably composed, even faced with the madness erupting in the magical community, and it had taken him only a few hours after being sworn in to contact Rane, Wade and the Elves of Ylle Thalas to revitalize their treaties. After the intolerant, mulish charade of the former rule, it was an olive branch that Wade had been more than willing to accept.

Rane, however, had not been so forgiving. She held Scrimgeour in the same esteem that Wade himself did, but his appeal for accord on behalf of his office, though she reluctantly accepted, seemed to strike her as insulting. When his owl had arrived, Rane had sat at the breakfast table over a cup of coffee, stirring it restlessly and staring at the letter, her brow furrowed, her mouth a thin line in her face; when Wade had begun to draft his reply, she had continued to sit across from him, her eyes on the handsome gray owl that had awaited them patiently. The scratching of his prose had been loud in the silence.

_You gonna sign off on this or sit there looking pissed off all night?_ Wade had asked her, a trifle reproachfully.

Rane, the cup held to her lips in both hands, snorted.

_I think I'd rather look pissed off,_ she had murmured. _Matter of fact I'd rather wrap a big piece of shit up into pretty paper and send that back to him instead. Let him suck on it for all I care. Let him choke. Goddamned murdering piece of -_

_Rane. The minister had nothing to do with what happened to Sirius -_

_You mean the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement had nothing to do with putting a man down without a trial?_ Rane had said, her voice rising. _You sure you want to say that sentence out loud? You feel pretty confident with it?_

_The Ministry didn't kill him, Rane_ -

_Yeah, well they sure as fuck signed his death warrant, didn't they?_ Rane had interrupted him, and then, getting up abruptly, she had chucked her coffee cup into the sink so hard that it had shattered, spraying its contents. Turning, she had reiterated. _They as GOOD as signed his death warrant, and without a FUCKING shred of remorse, not so much as a -_

_T_ _here are posters all over the Ministry._ Wade was trying to level his voice, not just because his daughter was pregnant but because the six-thousand-odd years of life experience he had on her was definitively weighing in on the issue. Sirius had been killed, and unjustly, and the fault fell in all directions, but progress . . . that was what they had to move towards. If only he'd felt articulate enough to tell her so. _They're trying to raise awareness. They're acknowledging -_

_ACKNOWLEDGING IT DOESN'T DO HIM A WHOLE LOT OF GOOD, DOES IT?_ Rane suddenly shouted at him. Her face was red, her eyes hard and bright. _DOES IT?_

_The baby,_ Wade had said, his voice level and soft. _Take it easy. It's just a letter, Rane. Just relax._

Rane had remained where she was for a moment, then, with an expression that was almost a sneer, she had plucked the quill from her father's hand, signed her name at the bottom of the parchment and thrown the quill back down.

_They're trying to make peace, Rane_ , he had told her as he rolled the scroll up. They're _trying to make it right, you can't blame them for that._

Rane had scoffed, shaking her head and looking utterly disgusted.

_Bastards_ , she had spat, her voice rife with vitriol. This said, she had risen and strode off wordlessly, leaving her father to stare after her, the owl nibbling at his fist for its Sickle.

Wade hadn't been surprised that she'd reacted this way; the change in her had been quite dramatic since the Department of Mysteries. Apart from a fierce revulsion for the Ministry itself, which she felt was greatly responsible for Sirius's death, some of the light seemed to have simply gone away from her. Before that night, Rane had been vibrant, confident, self-possessed, as lighthearted and humourous as her father before her. Now she seemed to exist beneath a shadow; she spent what time she wasn't working shut away in Sirius's room, and Wade had found her many nights sitting on the patio, her legs curled beneath her, staring out into the darkness expressionlessly. Many times she could be heard weeping softly. Though her belly had grown round, she was eating less and sleeping more often; the prominent bones in her cheeks had grown sharp and her eyes hollow. Worse, she was aloof; even the mention of Sirius's name was enough to turn her to stone. She received frequent owls from Harry Potter, but as to the nature of their letters Wade could not begin to guess, and Rane certainly wasn't volunteering it.

Wade had asked Remus one evening, after a meeting in which Rane had sat stone-faced and silent and then departed wordlessly at its adjournment without the merest glance towards any of her companions, if he had spoken to her.

_I just can't get her to talk to me, Remus,_ Wade had said, shaking his head. _She sits up there in that damn room all day and night, she won't eat, she clams right up if someone even mentions Sirius . . . The only time she says any damn thing to me is when she's working . . ._

Remus had sipped his tea, contemplative. His eyes had been on Rane's departing form as she climbed the stairway somewhat laboriously, one hand trailing along the railing, the other on her belly. She'd begun to walk with an oddly endearing, painstaking bow-leggedness that Wade remembered all too well from Lori's pregnancy (the "duck walk," Lori had called it, not without wry distaste). They could have been twins, save the eyes.

_It's been months, Remus,_ months _since Sirius,_ Wade had said, following his gaze. _She's just getting worse instead of better_.

Remus had sighed. Above them Rane's form vanished at last from view; the sound of a door slamming came to them faintly.

_Put yourself in her position,_ Remus said at last. _She was alone before Sirius, you know that. Spending all her time at the Ministry and at that awful flat of hers, dating was arbitrary . . . She told me,_ he added as Wade opened his mouth. _And I visited that flat. Imagine trusting someone the way she obviously trusted Sirius, allowing herself to feel something for someone else, conceiving a child . . . And then he's gone, just like that. And here she is, alone again, but now with a baby that she will have to rear by herself. And there's no one who understands what he was like. I imagine that's why she and Harry communicate so frequently. They both knew him best as he was at the end, and so they both grieve for him the most._

_I knew Sirius_ , Wade said, sounding affronted. _Hell,_ you _knew him, Remus, better than most of us._

_Yes_ , said Remus patiently, _but not the way_ Rane _knew him. Surely you understand. Think of you and Lori. Think of the things you shared with her, things her friends wouldn't have known._

_Lori didn't have any friends_ , Wade murmured, but he understood what Remus meant nonetheless.

Remus had placed a hand on his friend's shoulder bracingly. _Give her time_ , he had said gently.

_She's_ had _time!_

_Yes, but she_ loved _him_! said Remus with sudden ferocity, brandishing a fist. _She loved him, Wade! Imagine how she must feel!_

Wade had fallen silent, rubbing his forehead.

_Time_ , Remus had said sagely. _Time and space, if that's what she seems to need. She is strong, Wade. She'll come round. When she's ready, and not before._

Wade was an Elf, so he knew patience well enough. Elven or not, however, the keening cry that rose from the upstairs bedroom this evening didn't just startle him; it scared the living Christ out of him.

He stumbled to his feet, eyes wide, his wand in his hand in an instant. Before it had even fully registered that his daughter had been the one to scream, he was running up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Blimey, what -?"

The door to the bedroom at the top of the stairs - most recently occupied by Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks - had sprung open, and Wade had the space of a heartbeat to register Lupin's bleary-eyed head before they collided. He had a moment to reflect on how unnaturally awful his reflexes were, and to ponder whether it was exhaustion or simple age that was beginning to affect his instincts.

"Remus - god - dammit -!"

The two of them tumbled awkwardly to the floor, tangled in one another's limbs.

"Wade - sorry, mate - what was - what the -?"

"Rane," said Wade, staggering to his feet. He caught a glimpse of Tonks's pink hair, radically bright in the gloom where she was sitting up in bed looking bewildered, as he rushed headlong up the stairway.

The cry rose again, making Wade's hackles rise. Remus was close on his heel now, tying his robe about his waist.

"RANE!"

As the two men came skidding onto the landing, Rane was emerging from Sirius's old room, clutching her belly, clad in a tank top and shorts. Her face was white, her eyes wide and staring,

"Jesus Christ, I think it's coming." she gasped at them.

"What?" Wade stared at her, half-asleep, completely baffled.

"It's time!" Rane was duck-walking out of her bedroom now, her face ashen.

"Time?" Remus was looking at her with the same expression that Wade was wearing, his hair tousled and his eyes shadowed, sluggish with sleep and bewildered.

Rane was staggering down the hallway now, one hand on the wall, one grasping at her belly, gasping.

"Need - to - go - _hurts_ \- oh, God -!"

She bent at the waist suddenly, both hands clutching at her belly, and loosed another shriek.

"WHAT ARE YOU MUPPETS DOING?" Tonks suddenly howled from behind them. Both Wade and Remus started as if they'd been goosed. "SHE'S IN LABOR, YOU COMPLETE TOSSERS, WHAT ARE YOU STANDING THERE FOR?!"

"Labor?" said Wade, his voice meek.

"YES, LABOR!" Tonks shouted. Rane was nodding emphatically, her eyes squeezed shut and her brow gleaming with sweat. "HAVE EITHER OF YOU NOTICED SHE'S PREGNANT? GET OUT OF THE BLOODY WAY, THE BOTH OF YOU!"

She brushed roughly past them and went to Rane, who grasped her shoulder gratefully

"Honestly!" Tonks spat as she helped Rane stagger between Wade and Remus, who looked utterly gormless. " _Men_! Make yourselves useful and send Molly an owl, tell her we're going to St. Mungo's straightaway. Bleeding idiots . . . !"

Muttering to herself angrily, she helped Rane down the stairs towards the landing.

ST. MUNGO'S was thankfully quiet when they arrived that evening, or as quiet as it was apt to be, anyways; the waiting room was more deserted than Wade had ever seen it, himself, probably due to the late hour. By the time they'd managed to Apparate to the foyer, Rane was in such obvious discomfort that Wade had scooped her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way inside. He could feel the feverish heat baking off of her and the tenseness of her muscles, drawn taut as guitar strings beneath her clothes. She had one of Tonks' hands in a death grip.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, what took you so long?" a harried voice cried. Molly Weasley was hurrying towards them, looking distinctly disheveled and clearly just out of bed. Her hair stood up riotously in all directions, and though she wore a cloak, she had neglected to change out of her house slippers before leaving.

She hurried to Wade, placing both hands on Rane's cheeks.

"Now, keep breathing, dear one, keep on - don't hold it in even it pains you, let it out nice and easy, now . . ."

"- hurts - !" Rane gasped at her from between clenched teeth.

"I know it does, dear, but you _must_ keep breathing -!"

"Hello, please, my name is Remus Lupin, we need to check in," said Remus gruffly as they approached the front desk. Both Molly and Tonks were fussing with Rane, who Wade was gently setting onto her feet.

The young witch behind the counter, who had been twirling her hair idly, gazed up at them, looking bored and smacking gum.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked him.

"Of _course_ not!" Molly snapped.

The witch nodded, scribbling with her quill.

"What's the affliction?" she asked, chewing her gum.

Remus gestured wildly at Rane. "Isn't it - I mean - obviously -!"

"BABY!" Tonks roared from behind him.

The gum-chewing witch nodded, quite unruffled, her quill moving rapidly.

"Name?"

"Rane Roth."

"Rain? R-A-I-N?" The witch snickered. "Bit of an odd -"

"R-A-N-E, you absolute prat!" Tonks shouted. The witch nodded calmly, scribbling some more.

"And any magical sensitivities?"

Remus looked at Wade, who shrugged, his mouth open.

"None, excellent," the witch murmured, writing. "And how will you be paying?"

Wade dug roughly into his jeans pocket, striding forward, and produced a willy-nilly handful of Galleons and Sickles, which he slammed onto the counter. A few Knuts clanged onto the floor. The witch eyed this, her eyebrows high, chewing her gum. Wade stared back at her, looking mutinous.

"Alright," she muttered. She waved her wand, and a bright blue ticket appeared; she handed it to Remus, who pocketed it.

"You lot can take a seat."

"And what about Rane?" Molly demanded.

"The Healers will take care of her from here," said the witch, gesturing lazily to a pair of doors adjacent to them. A pair of white-robed wizards had just appeared. They strode towards Rane and with a flick of his wand one of them levitated her before them, her hair streaming down beneath her.

"Wait -!"

Rane's hand was stretching out towards her father. He grasped it with both of his own, looking down at her.

"I'm scared, dad!" she said, her brows knitted.

"You're gonna be just fine, girl," said Wade, and bending placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Just fine and dandy. Nothing to it."

"Wait! Can't he -?"

"No family or friends in the birthing center, I'm afraid," the witch at the front desk said, though she'd begun flipping at a magazine before her and sounded less than sorry. "The waiting room for the lot of you, please."

Rane gave a long, terrified moan, still staring back toward her father, but the Healers were striding away with her now, and their hands parted as Rane stared back at them, her eyes round. With that she had vanished through the doors. Wade stood where he was, restraining the urge to run after her.

"Steady on, mate," Remus said at his side, touching his arm gently.

"Aww, Remus," Wade moaned, staring wistfully at the still-swinging doors. "That's my little girl."

"She's in good hands," Remus said bracingly.

Wade, who privately thought that Remus could have no idea how he felt until he was a father, said simply, "She better be."

THE screams that arose from Rane that evening rang clear even in the waiting room of St. Mungo's. Wizards and witches glanced at one another nervously each time a fresh shriek echoed down the corridor. Remus clutched a steaming cup of tea, Tonks nestled against his shoulder. Molly was seated primly with her legs crossed, smoothing her robes compulsively and flipping through the ancient editions of _Witch Weekly_ stacked on the end tables. Wade, meanwhile, was bent over his knees some ways off, hands dangling between them, staring at the floor, his mouth a thin line in his face.

At some point Molly rose and sat beside him, patting his knee gently. He started and looked up at her, pale.

"Are you all right, dear?"

Before Wade could answer, another shriek rose from the depths of the hospital, and several Healers lifted their heads from the front desk, looking mildly concerned. Wade stared sickly towards the doorway where his daughter had vanished some time before.

"She's going to be alright," said Molly. "All witches go through the very same thing. Bet your mum was just the same with you."

"Elves don't yell that way," said Wade hollowly.

As if to punctuate this, another shriek echoed out, accompanied by the slamming of a door.

"Wade, dear, childbirth, it's not pleasant, you know. It hurts. Quite a lot, actually."

"Does it?" said Wade, sounding uncharacteristically timid.

Molly nodded, stroking his knee gently. "Goodness gracious yes, it does. Take it from someone who's done it a time or two . . ."

"Must not have been _that_ bad, if you did it six more times."

Molly chuckled. "Well, the thing about it is, it's all more than worth it. I still remember when the Healer handed me Fred and George. And Charlie. Ron. The lot of them. You just . . . Love them right away. All the pain fades away."

The corners of Wade's mouth turned up a tad into the hint of a smile.

"When your - well -" Molly struggled. "When Rane's mother had her -"

"Oh man," Wade murmured.

"Do you remember it?"

Wade snorted. " _Do_ I."

He did, too. It had been in the bowels of a rural North Carolina hospital, where there was neither magic nor Elves, and had he felt out of place? Did he ever. The waiting room, full of muggles . . . the vending machines, full of candy he had never heard of . . . the nurses, who had ushered him into the depths of the wing where Lori had finally succumbed to a caesarean. She'd been unconscious, had remained that way for nearly a day, but Rane . . .

"Well, go on," Molly said, nudging him. "I haven't the veriest idea how they do it in muggle hospitals . . ."

Wade scoffed, smirking. "Her mom had to have a C-section. When they have to cut the baby out," he added as Molly looked confused. "Lori was okay but the drugs, they put her down for a big stretch. Rane, she was in the nursery, and they let me come in to say hi, all covered in blue and gloved and masked, the whole thing."

He smiled suddenly at the memory. Rane had been in the nineteenth bed, and when Wade had come to her cradle . . .

"Oh, Molly, she was a little piece of heaven," he said softly. "So little, such a bitty little thing. Seven pounds soaking wet. I picked her up and she . . ." Wade glanced at Molly, suddenly embarrassed that he was close to tears.

"Go on," Molly told him, offering him a brilliant and somewhat misty-eyed smile. She reached out and grasped his hand.

"She looked up at me, and she grabbed my hair . . ." Wade reached up and tugged at a strand of his own. "Like that. Sassy little old thing right from the get-go. And she was looking at me, really _seeing_ me."

He smiled.

"Beautiful even then, with big ol' eyes and that little mouth and all that dark hair. What a heartbreaker."

He paused. Molly was listening to him intently, her own eyes sparkling suspiciously.

"Man, I guess . . . being an Elf, you know, and the way the babies are when they're human . . . it's like they _know_. They _see_ you. Rane _saw_ me. And that point on, I never let her out of my sight., Molly, she was all mine. When her mom left and tried to take her, I told her I'd die first, and I meant it. Still would." He glanced toward the double doors. "Still would. That girl, man . . . I never loved anything more. I'd die if anything happened to her."

He hesitated again, and then, deep in the memory now, he added, "It was raining that night, fit to split. A hurricane, right over town. Lightning, thunder, flooding, you name it. The whole works ran on gennies for damn near a week. So we called her Rane. Short for Ranéwan, at first, the one I wanted and Lori hated. But the rain, it didn't stop 'til we got her home, and then that very night the sun came back out, red and hot and gorgeous as you like. And it sure did seem right that day, calling her that. It all seemed just right. She brought it on, like coming into the world shook it all up, then the world saw her little smile, and it all dried up. And out came the sunshine."

He sniffed heavily and scrubbed at his eyes. Molly grasped his face and kissed his cheek with such affection that Wade flushed.

"She's strong," Molly went on. "She's tough, our Rane. She'll be just fine."

Wade sighed, rubbing his palms together. "I just hate that Sirius had to miss it, Molly. I hate it so damn much. Not just for him, but for Rane and for their kiddo. Growing up without him, now . . . Now that'll be hard on them. I just hate it."

Molly sighed. "So do I, Wade, dear. It was a terrible thing. Seems it just happened yesterday, even now, doesn't it?"

Wade nodded and passed a hand over his face. He looked tired.

"Molly, I never thought I'd rue the day, but sometimes I wish I'd told Sirius just to stay away from her," said Wade, very low.

"What do you mean?"

"I confronted him after I started to suspect something," said Wade. "I had a hunch weeks before, mind you, but I thought maybe he'd just taken a shine to her. Lots of men do, even at the Ministry."

"She's quite lovely," Molly said, nodding.

"But she never gave any of them the time of day, and those were Aurors, some of them," said Wade. "And then I noticed she had her trotting harness on and it started falling into place . . . Anyway, I gave him my blessing."

He sighed deeply.

"Well, what on earth is wrong with that?"

"Just . . . The way she is, Molly. You've seen what she can do. And now, this baby, and I wonder sometimes if I'd just told him to clear out and leave her be, she'd have been spared some of this -"

Another shriek echoed down the hallway. Wade looked towards the door.

"Wade Roth, if you think that you telling Sirius one way or another would have made even the slightest bit of difference, then you're a fool," said Molly, smirking. "They were in love no matter what anyone else thought about it."

"Yeah, I know, but if maybe I'd discouraged it -" Wade began, but Molly scoffed derisively.

"Hearing you talk like that I'd almost think you didn't know either one of them. Both as headstrong as you please, both stubborn as oxen . . . Wade, you know, I've known Sirius for longer than I care to admit, and I'd never seen him behave that way around anyone before he met Rane. It was going to happen one way or the other. The way he looked at her, you could just tell . . ."

She sighed heavily, looking suddenly sad, her eyes overbright.

"Oh, it just seems so near," she said again. "So young and gone so soon. We didn't always get along, but it was so lovely seeing him so happy for a piece at the end."

She sniffed, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her sleeve.

"Being silly," she muttered gruffly. Wade patted her knee gently.

"Strange times we live in," he murmured bleakly. "Awful strange times."

Molly put her head on his shoulder and said nothing. Feeling shamefaced and worried, Wade turned his gaze back to the double doors through which his only daughter had vanished hours prior and continued to wait.

"RANE. Honey. Come all the way 'round, now."

Rane opened her eyes, feeling oddly fuzzy. She lay beneath a white sheet that was still streaked with her own blood. Her dark hair was plastered to her sweaty face in strings.

The woman bent over her was a Healer; she'd been the one between Rane's legs in the thick of it, and though she too looked worn out, her eyes were kind. She was a little older than Rane, with curly blonde hair and a careworn face. Rane couldn't place why she seemed so out of place there for a moment, so vast was her exhaustion, but then it occurred to her; the witch was not from London. Her accent was similar to Rane's own; a faint, kindly Southern strum, unique only to America.

"You're not from here," Rane muttered.

The Healer smiled. "And from the sound of it neither are you or that tall man who brought you in."

"That's my dad."

"I imagined so. You've got his nose."

"Where, then?"

"Louisiana. Came here before Hogwarts, just never lost the twang I guess. How you feeling?"

Rane sat up slightly, assessing herself with some trepidation. She could remember the pain, an excruciating, pulsating fury that had radiated from deep inside her; she could also remember screaming, gripping the sheets at her sides in white-knuckled fists, her breath shearing from between her clenched teeth. It all seemed strangely faint, however. She ran one hand beneath the sheet across her midsection, which was once again flat. There seemed to be no pain, only a dull ache around her hipbone.

"I think I'm okay. I mean, it doesn't hurt . . ."

"Oh you'll be sore for a couple-few days, don't you fret about that," the Healer told her. "We'll send you home with a few potions, shouldn't take more than a week and you'll be right as rain." She laughed at her little joke. "'Scuse the funny."

Rane lay back again, though the motion made her head swim. The world seemed to be moving very sluggishly.

"I feel a little weird."

"It's just the charm we use to help patch you up," the Healer told her. "It'll pass. Helps with the soreness for a little while."

"Where's -?"

Rane looked around the little room, which was gently lit, but it was relatively sparse. She didn't hear any crying, and there wasn't anyone else immediately in evidence around her . . .

"Your baby's just fine," the Healer told her, following her gaze. "We're fetching her. I took her to the nursery so you could rest for a little while"

Rane smiled at the way she pronounced the final word - with a hard H sound at the fore, just like her father.

"Where's your little one's daddy at? Waiting room? Bet he'd like to say hello."

Rane froze. She felt her stomach do a slow, sick flip inside her.

"No," she said slowly. "He's not out there."

"Well, it's been a little bit," said the Healer, clearly not picking up on Rane's clear discomfort. "He might've shown up a few hours after you got in, I can go have a look if you'd -"

"No, that's okay." Rane looked away.

The Healer looked bewildered, but smiled. "Well, then, in that case - oh look, here we are!"

The door creaked open, revealing a tall dark-haired Healer carrying a bundle of gently stirring blankets.

"Mind the head, now," the Healer said, but her voice seemed far away to Rane, who was gazing transfixed at the bundle being lowered down to her.

And then, there she was.

Rane didn't see the Healer with the blonde hair. She didn't see the room around her, or the vials of potion on her bedside table. She didn't see the floating tray laden with fruit and water that hovered at her bedside, or the peculiar blue hourglass that the Healers had somehow utilized during her fretful delivery. She forgot the paralyzing pain, the undeniable urge to push, the ripping agony that strafed through her midsection, the involuntary screams that emerged from her lips. She forgot about the morning sickness, the sleepless nights. She forgot about the Death Eaters, about Voldemort, about Ylle Thalas, about her father, about her flat in London, about Grimmauld Place. In that moment there was only one thing that existed, one thing that mattered.

"It's a girl," said the Healer, but Rane hardly heard her. She knew. Had always known, had known all along. He placed the bundle in Rane's arms, and she gathered it to her, gently moving aside the blankets that obscured the tiny face, looking down on this sight with an expression of something like awe.

"Her name is Idril," said Rane softly. She'd chosen names for a boy and a girl months before, but the words fell from her mouth sounding well-rehearsed. In her daze she could hardly hear herself. "Idril Black."

There had never been a more perfect creature on this green earth that Rane had clapped eyes upon. She was chubby, flawless, well-formed, swaddled in white and impossibly dear. The baby ceased her whimpering, opened up a pair of bright blue eyes and met her mother's gaze. Her hair was black as night.

She was Sirius to the life.

Rane began to cry. The baby grasped one of her fingers in one perfect chubby fist.

"Sirius," Rane whispered. Her heart had never been so full of pain and joy in all her life. "Sirius, she's so like you. So like you, Sirius. Look at her, just look."

And suddenly the excruciating, hollow loss of Sirius Black overtook Rane there in the hospital bed in its full, true form. It had never come to her more strongly that he was gone, that he would never share this gift with her. There would be no happy homecoming with the three of them clustered together, a mother and a father poring over their child, their faces alight with joy. There would be no exhausted mornings of coffee and Spring sunshine on the patio, hand in hand while the baby cooed near at hand, chasing butterflies and laughing. Whatever came next, it would be empty of those things, and empty of Sirius Black. Rane had never felt it grip her so powerfully.

Now she lay in a bed clutching her daughter, and where was he, in all the universe where was he now? Was she to do this alone? The emptiness in her heart, sharply contrasted with the overwhelming joy she felt at the sensation of the child in her arms, fought for precedence in her chest.

She placed her forehead against her baby's and wept, though for joy or despair she didn't know.


	30. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane and Idril spend Christmas Eve at the Burrow

"Rane! So good to see you, dear, please do come in!"

"Merry Christmas, Molly!"

Molly Weasley stood at the entrance of the Burrow, fussing with the cooking apron she wore and beaming. Rane Roth, clad in a pair of low-slung jeans and a close black pullover beneath a green riding cloak, was standing at the snowy doorstep, a bundle of stirring blankets clutched at her bosom. She stepped through the threshold gratefully, stomping the snow off of her boots.

"We weren't sure you were coming, dear, are you well? Here, let me help -"

Molly took the bundle of blankets, allowing Rane to remove her cloak gratefully.

"Thanks. I wasn't sure I'd come, honestly, but man, I've missed you guys." Rane hung her cloak on the nearby rack and then abandoning pretense she threw her arms around Molly.

"Oh, Rane, we've missed you too," Molly said against her shoulder, sounding near tears. She pulled back, dabbing at her eyes with her free hand and clearly casting about for a change of subject to hide her emotion. "Let me see this little love."

She pulled back the blankets, revealing the tiny fists and bright eyes of Idril, who was cooing gently. Molly touched one clasped hand gently, and Idril instantly closed her small fingers about it.

"She's smiling already?" Molly remarked, sounding astounded. Idril's rosebud mouth had curved into a beaming smirk, unmistakable in the rosy light. "Goodness, but it seems soon, doesn't it?"

"It's the Elf in her, I think," said Rane, following her gaze with a gentle smile of her own. "She's talking a little bit, too."

" _Talking_?" Molly gave Rane an astonished look. "She's _talking_ , did you say?"

Rane nodded, grinning despite herself. Idril's progress over the past two or three months had been not just impressive but astounding. Just three short weeks after she'd come home from St. Mungo's that September, she'd begun sitting up and crawling. The weekend after Thanksgiving (which Wade invariably insisted that they continue to celebrate), she had begun to smile and babble. If she kept up this tempo, Rane thought she would be walking before Valentine's Day, maybe even sooner.

"But she's hardly three months old!" Molly exclaimed.

"I know. Surprised the hell out of me, too."

"What can she say?"

Rane shrugged. "Just half-words, mostly, and some names. You'll hear it, I'm sure, she's not shy, Molly."

"'Olly!" Idril exclaimed, and loosed a delightful, pitchy giggle. Molly's mouth dropped open.

"See there?" Rane was laughing herself. "Chatterbox, this one."

"Goodness gracious, but she is a love," said Molly fondly, beaming down at the baby. "Do you think it's because -?"

"Beats me," said Rane, shrugging. "Even dad doesn't have any idea. Full-blood Elf babies are quick on the uptake, but nothing like this."

Molly took a breath, still looking down at Idril with something like wonder, and then, as if remembering herself, reached out and shut the door with her free hand. "Rane, forgive me, dear, come inside out of the cold, everyone will be delighted to see the both of you . . . "

Rane followed her into the livingroom, staring around her. She'd always loved the Burrow, which she'd visited a handful of times in the past on Order business. It was homey, sprawling, a little cluttered but cozy and rather pleasant. Photos of the Weasley children adorned the wall, fidgeting and watching Rane's progress. Some of them wore Santa hats.

Molly preceded Rane into the livingroom, still dotingly clutching Idril in her arms (Idril had commenced to tugging gently on her red locks and chanting ' _Olly_ cheerfully in her small, high-pitched voice, to Molly's delighted giggles). The room was quite lavishly festooned, full of mistletoe, ornament and paper chains. A hearty fire crackled in the hearth. In the corner, a thick, handsome fir was stood, ornamented bountifully and glimmering with enchanted lights and tinsel. At the top stood what Rane at first took for a weirdly disfigured angel; after a moment's inspection she realized with amusement that it was in fact a fat, Stupefied garden gnome, painted gold and adorned with fairy wings and a tutu.

Around the tree, sipping Butterbeers and goblets of wine, were Arthur Weasley, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, Harry, Remus and Bill Weasley, lost in merry chatter. At Bill's side, clutching a chalice of wine, sat a startlingly beautiful blonde girl that Rane knew must be Fleur Delacour.

"Welcome, welcome!" Arthur was rushing forward, clasping Rane's hand in both of his own. "Excellent to see you, Rane, so glad you could join us -"

"RANE!" a voice shouted, and a moment later all the air whooshed out of her as a bespectacled, lean body ran full-tilt into her.

"Harry!" Rane pulled him back by the shoulders, inspecting him and smiling. He was taller than when she'd last seen him, now at eye-level, and looking ever more like an adult. He was beaming at her, clad in a Gryffindor jumper, his glasses flashing in the firelight. She snagged him and ruffled his hair affectionately. " _Damn_ , I missed you!"

"Missed you too," Harry replied, still grinning. "Happy Christmas. Why haven't you written me back yet? I thought you might not come . . ."

"It's her fault," said Rane, throwing a thumb backwards at Idril, who was still clasped in Molly's arms and flapping her hands eagerly. "Anyway I wouldn't miss a chance to see you out of school . . . _Jesus_ , look how tall you got, man! In just a few months, too!"

She grasped Harry by the shoulders, beaming at him, then placed a loud kiss on his cheek. He flushed red, laughing.

"Good lord, look at this, you're damn near as tall as my dad -"

"Merry Christmas, Rane!" Ginny cried from the sofa happily. Ron, whose mouth was stuffed with what looked like fingerling potatoes, waved cheerfully at her.

"The lady of the hour, and looking lovely as ever," Fred remarked, bending and kissing Rane's hand animatedly. She snatched it back and slapped him playfully on the arm. "Where's Wade?"

"He's spending Christmas at Ylle Thalas, God knows why," Rane told him. "Idril isn't terribly popular there, I thought maybe we'd be better off elsewhere . . ."

"Well, maybe you being here will calm down mum a bit," said George furtively, glancing at Molly. "She's been a right basket case lately with Fleur staying over . . ."

"Why, don't they get along?" Rane asked the twins, dropping her voice.

"Yeah, like a couple of wolverines caught in a drainpipe," said Fred, smirking. "She's been going on and on about how good looking you are, trying to bring up how Bill used to fancy you and everything . . ."

"Sounds entertaining," said Rane grimly, glancing over at Fleur, who was spoon-feeding Bill pudding and watching him adoringly.

"It's good to see you," Remus said at her elbow, getting to his feet. Rane turned to him; he was looking much shabbier than when she's seen him last. He embraced her without pretense.

"You too, Remus," Rane replied honestly, hugging him back tightly. She had missed him fiercely; he had been notably out of touch for the last few weeks. "Where've you been? Busy?"

"Quite," Remus replied, pulling back and beaming down at her. The honest delight in his grin did wonders for his scruffy countenance, taking years away from his face. "I am sorry for my absence . . . I will explain everything -"

"'Olly!" said Idril again from Molly's arms. She screwed up her tiny face for a moment, her fists trembling at the sides of her head, and then with an enormous effort cried, "MOLLY!"

Ginny and Arthur both gasped.

"Did she just say your _name_ , mum?" Ginny remarked, staggered.

"Yeah, she can talk a little bit," Rane told her, smiling over her shoulder. "Never shuts up, as a matter of fact, especially when you're trying to sleep . . . "

"Oh, she's so _cute_!" Ginny squealed.

She, Fred, George, Arthur and Harry all crowded around Molly and Idril. Rane stood aside, her arms folded, watching this with a smile. She could hear Ron amid the bustle saying, "It's Ron, Idril! _Ron_!" and Idril responding, "Ron-Ron-Ron!" and breaking into delighted giggles.

"She seems quite clever," Remus remarked at her elbow. Rane looked over at him, then linked her arm around his waist, drawing him close.

"She's clever, all right," Rane agreed amiably. It was good to be amongst them on Christmas Eve, especially with Remus there. "I figured she'd be bright, but not talking at two months old bright . . ."

Remus nodded, watching Idril cooing happily and tugging at George's ear. "Fred!" she squeaked.

"No, _I'm_ Fred, _that's_ George -"

"' _Orge_!"

"George, that's right! And _that's_ Fred!"

Idril stared from Fred to George, goggling with comical bewilderment at their similarity. "'Ed?" she said, putting the merest hint of query on the word.

"Fred, George," George told her, pointing from his twin to himself.

"'Orge!" Idril giggled, grasping at Fred's sweater. "'Orge-' _Orge_!"

"And you?" Remus asked Rane softly. "How are you?"

Rane shook her head, her gaze on the cluster of Weasleys around her baby. Remus did not press her further; instead, he strung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her close to him. She was grateful for his acumen.

"Glad you and Idril could make it, Rane," Bill Weasley was saying. He had set his goblet aside and risen, pulling the pretty blond along by her hand. "I'd like you to meet Fleur Delacour, my fiancée."

"I'm Rane Roth. Bill's told us a lot about -"

"Oh, lovely, you've met Rane!" Molly said promptly, coming to the fore and grasping Rane by the elbow. "She and Bill go back, after all, like I was telling you lot last night -"

"As coworkers," Rane interrupted quickly.

"Oh, are you a Curse-Breaker az well?" Fleur inquired in her heavy accent. "Bill 'az never spoken of zis -"

"I'm an Auror," Rane told her, grasping her proffered hand and smiling. "We met through the Ministry."

"It iz a pleasure," Fleur told her, beaming and showing off a row of perfectly white, even teeth. "Bill's muzzer 'az 'ad, erm, many good things to say -"

"I _told_ you she was pretty, didn't I?" Molly said, patting Rane's shoulder fondly.

"Congratulations, you guys," Rane told Bill and Fleur, ignoring Molly. "Bet you're excited."

"Very," said Bill, pulling Fleur close to her. "Seems like bad timing, mind you, but I reckon -"

"Nonsense," said Remus. "We could all use a little good news right now."

"Your accent eez - how do you say - _inhabituelle_ ," said Fleur. "Bill tells me you are _Elfique_ , eez that -?"

"No, I'm just American, nothing to do with all that," said Rane, smirking. "And I bet you're from Toulouse, huh?"

Fleur gave her a surprised look.

"I used to date a guy from near there," Rane told her. "You sound just like him. He taught me a little scosh of French, but not -"

" _C'est super_!" Fleur cried, looking transported. " _Parles-tu bien Francais_?"

Rane, who had indeed picked up on a _very_ small amount of French from her former suitor, took a moment of reflection before replying.

"Er . . . _Je voudrais un café_ ," she said ineptly, her cheeks pink. Fred and George were cackling behind her. "That's really all I learned -"

Fleur let out a happy squeak, clutching Bill's arm. "Oh, _je l'aime,_ Bill, she eez just as lovely as your muzzer says!"

Rane laughed uncomfortably. Molly was scowling at her side, looking thoroughly displeased.

"How've you been?" Bill asked her anxiously. Behind them, Idril was shrieking Harry's name amid laughter, clearly pleased by how entertaining her audience found her.

Rane shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Work's been crazy. The Death Eaters are having a field day now that they're out in the open. And that one back there has me running eighty-hour weeks these days . . ."

She sighed, feeling Bill's eyes on her. She was aware that he hadn't been talking about work, but dredging up the topic of Sirius was a gloomy thought indeed. Molly, seeing her distress, came to her rescue at once.

"Rane, dear, would you care for some turkey? We've got mead . . . "

An hour later found them sitting together in the living room, Rane a few Firewhiskeys deep and with a belly full of turkey and pudding. Ginny had started a game of Exploding Snap with Fred and George; Idril, ever a fan of loud noises and bright lights, had found her way over to them and plopped herself down into Ginny's lap, watching the game and crowing with delighted laughter each time a card detonated. Bill and Fleur were cuddling together on the sofa before the fire (Rane noticed Ron was snatching looks at them, as if trying to pick up tips). Molly had turned on a rather atrocious, saccharine Holiday broadcast which was presently blasting from the speakers (Molly herself, clearly a fan, was dancing about near the wireless, singing along and clutching her glass of wine); Arthur, who was sitting on an armchair and peeling a Satsuma, looked ready to nod off despite the noise. Rane could sympathize; three Firewhiskeys and a plate and a half of turkey had her feeling pleasantly sluggish, too.

Rane had been quite happy to find both Remus and Harry keeping close at hand all evening; neither of them seemed keen to let her out of their sights. She was between them on the sofa presently, her legs crossed Indian-style, Remus on her left hand gazing into the fire distractedly and clutching a goblet of wine. Harry was reclined on her right, twirling his wand between one hand and recounting the Hogwarts school year to her. She had heard most of these tales via their frequent owls, which sometimes numbered two or three a week since Sirius had died, but she was content to listen anyways. It was lovely to be with both of them. She realized only now how lonely it had been for her, with only Idril and herself at Headquarters along with a handful of Order members flitting in and out and her father's occasional visits. Dumbledore had escorted Buckbeak to Hogwarts where Rubeus Hagrid was caring for him in the late Summer, and even Kreacher had been sent to the kitchens there to work. When she wasn't working, it was dreadfully isolated.

"We used to dance to this when we were eighteen!" Molly cried happily. "Remember, Arthur?"

Arthur looked up, bleary-eyed. "Mmm? Oh, yes, yes, dear, of course . . ."

"What _is_ this?" Rane murmured. "Sounds like cats dying . . ."

"Celestina Warbeck," said Remus from the corner of his mouth, looking amused. "Molly's favorite. Nearly over, don't worry."

In the corner, a card exploded with a bang in a bright fiery flash and Idril immediately began to laugh fit to split, flailing her tiny fists. Ginny, Fred and George were laughing with her, seemingly unable to help themselves.

"Has it been very busy at the Ministry?" Harry asked Rane.

Rane shared a grim look with Arthur.

"It's been insane," she said honestly, leaning back and swirling her Firewhiskey around gently. The taste of it always reminded her of Sirius - she could recall the ghostly flavor of it on his lips, the evenings they'd shared laughing and sharing bottles, and the thought of him, inarticulate and faint, had followed her around all evening. She welcomed the question's distraction. "We've made a few arrests, but nothing that seems legit . . ."

"Well, the Ministry wants to show everyone they're doing something, I suppose," said Arthur dourly. "I'd wager that not one of the arrests we've made was a genuine Death Eater . . ."

"You wager, I'll guarantee," said Rane bleakly.

"Are they still holding Stan Shunpike?" Harry asked.

Rane nodded. "That guy isn't going anywhere. The Minister won't risk it. Looks bad on the Department, taking some goofy young kid into custody and claiming he's a Death Eater then going back on it . . . I mean, it's obvious to me he was Imperiused, and I'm sure it's obvious to Scrimgeour too, if you could get him to admit it -"

"Quite obvious," Arthur agreed. "Dumbledore's tried appealing to Scrimgeour directly, but he won't hear a word of it."

"What do you think of him, Rane?" Harry asked her suddenly.

"Who, Rufus?"

Harry nodded. Rane leaned forward, clutching the glass of Firewhiskey between her knees, thinking it over.

"You know, it's weird," she said at length, "I did like him when he was head of the Auror Department. He was a good Auror, took zero bullshit and kept things running straight. And he never liked Fudge, either, he was the first to call him on whatever silly damn thing he was doing. But . . . I dunno. Since he's become Minister, he's more . . . Well . . ."

"Disingenuous," Arthur supplied.

Rane nodded at once, tipping her glass his way. "Exactly. He's got his priorities mixed up. It's all about public perception these days, not what's wrong or right. It's more important to make people _think_ we're doing things the right way, at the end of the day. And that makes me think he's a bit of a prick."

Rane sipped her Firewhiskey thoughtfully.

"What about Wade?" Arthur asked, looking curious.

Rane sighed. "I'm not sure," she said. "We've had words about it, because I think the whole Ministry is a dog and pony show these days but he's doing his damndest to give the guy the benefit of the doubt . . . He's made some excuses for Shunpike, for example, and he's a big fan of what Rufus did for the Elves -"

"What did he do?"

"Reinstated them," said Remus, still gazing into the fire. "He gave them back their old rights and revitalized the alliance between us. Rumor is that he offered Wade his old position, as a matter of fact."

Harry and Arthur both looked at Rane, who was nodding.

"Dad turned him down."

"Why?" said Harry incredulously.

"I think because Head of the Auror Office and a _maethor_ for Ylle Thalas was pushing it a little bit, to be honest. He ended up letting Gawain Robards have it instead. He'd have taken it if he though he could juggle them both, though, I'm sure," she added, snickering. "Lord knows that man loves the limelight."

"Gin-Gin-Gin!" Idril was crying merrily across the room, now sat in Fred's lap, clutching his jumper sleeve and bouncing cheerfully. Ginny was building a tower with the Exploding Snap cards, and as Rane peered over at them, the stack collapsed, causing a terrific bang and a puff of smoke. Idril shrieked with laughter as Ginny wiped the soot from her forehead, grinning.

"Mr. Weasley, did you ever -?" Harry began, but Arthur cut him off at once.

"I checked, Harry," he said. "I went to the Malfoys' house and searched it. There was nothing there that shouldn't have been there, broken or otherwise."

Rane knew right away what they were talking about. Harry had been quite eager to tell her his theories on Lucius Malfoy's son and what he was getting up to at Hogwarts, as well as Severus Snape's involvement.

"Look, it gets worse," Harry told Arthur earnestly. "I saw Malfoy and Snape in the corridor at Slughorn's Christmas party . . . Snape was talking about his Master, he offered to help him and -"

"Has it occurred to you, Harry," said Arthur, "that Severus may have just been pretending to -"

"Pretending to help so that he could find out what Malfoy's up to?" said Harry quickly. "Yeah, I thought you'd say that. But how do we know?"

"It isn't our business to know," said Remus, looking over at Harry. "It's Dumbledore's business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us."

"But Dumbledore can make mistakes," Harry pointed out, sounding harried. "Maybe he's wrong about Snape."

"You know, he's got a point," Rane told Remus, leaning forward. "It seems a little weird, doesn't it? The guy's shady, you can't deny that . . ."

Remus simply shrugged, sipping his wine. "It comes down to whether or not you trust Albus's judgment," he said, looking at her pointedly. "I do; therefore I trust Severus."

"Remus, I've seen you with that man," said Rane, scoffing in spite of herself. "You can't honestly tell me you _like_ him -"

"Yeah, what about him 'accidentally' letting slip you were a werewolf and getting you kicked out of Hogwarts?" Harry agreed adamantly.

Rane had heard this tale from Sirius on occasion during their time together; she'd also sat across from Severus many times during Order meetings since Sirius had died, and during those times she'd grown to understand why Sirius had harbored such an intense dislike for the man. He was insolent, sneaky and callous to his core, showing the same sneering scorn for Rane that he had surely shown Sirius while he was alive. She could not understand Albus's fondness of him, for the life of her.

Lupin was shrugging, looking quite unruffled. "It would have leaked out anyway. We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the Wolfsbane potion he made me every month. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful."

"If you love him so much, why don't you marry him?" Rane muttered. Harry snorted. Remus looked over at her, smirking, one eyebrow lifted.

"If Albus says we can trust him," he repeated steadfastly, "than by all means, we can. He would not steer us wrong."

Harry slumped back, looking irritated. Celestina ended her song on a very long, high-pitched note and loud applause issued out of the wireless, which Molly joined in with enthusiastically.

"Eez eet over?" said Fleur loudly. "Thank goodness, what an 'orrible -"

"Who wants a nightcap?" said Arthur hastily, leaping to his feet. "Eggnog, anyone?"

"So, are you going to tell us what you've been up that's had you too damn busy to write to us lowly hayseeds, Secret Agent Lupin?" Rane asked Remus as Arthur bustled off into the kitchen. Harry laughed. Remus smiled wanly, looking faintly amused.

"I've been underground," he said, peering into his wine thoughtfully. "Living amongst my fellows on Dumbledore's orders."

Harry looked mystified. "Your -?"

"Werewolves," said Remus. "Nearly all of them are on Voldemort's side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was, ready-made."

He sounded a little bitter. Rane reached out and grasped his hand gently; he squeezed it at once.

"There are some nasty ones running around down there," she said grimly.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked her.

She glanced at him. The numerous photos and reports of werewolf attacks that had run amuck in the past few weeks had crossed her desk frequently of late. They were not pretty, and many of the murders had been rather horrible. Of those attacks that didn't end in death, the victims could look forward to a much nastier future, one riddled with the same pain and prejudice that Remus himself had faced for likely most of his life. Worse, many of the victims had been children.

"The Ministry's passed some anti-werewolf legislation," she told Harry, deciding that maybe graphic descriptions of mutilated kids was a little beyond the etiquette of a peaceful Christmas Eve; in any case, a Sixth-Year had no business hearing about such gruesome things, however grown up he might look. "They put them all into a bind. It's pretty stringent."

She felt a clear sense of shame saying this; after all, she was at the fore of the law within the Ministry. She wrung Remus's hand tighter.

Remus, meanwhile, was nodding. "Many werewolves have been forced to the margins of society, stealing and sometimes killing for food, though this suits many of them just fine. There seems to be a sort of pride that goes along with being ostracized out of fear. I have not always been looked upon kindly for trying to live within Wizarding society."

"Is that why they like Voldemort?" Harry asked. "Because of the Ministry?"

"That's part of it," said Remus. "But Voldemort has promised them prey in return for their loyalty, and it's difficult to argue with Greyback down there . . ."

"Greyback?" said Harry.

"Fenrir Greyback," said Rane, looking at him in some surprise. "You haven't heard of him?"

Harry shook his head.

Remus's grip on Rane's hand tightened convulsively. "Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback specializes in children… Bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people's sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results."

Rane looked over at Idril, who was clapping her tiny hands and crying Fred's name as he Charmed the Exploding Snap deck into a spiraling coil in the air around her. Rane felt a violent, almost unspeakable rage at the idea of Greyback biting her kid for the hell of the thing. Her thought was interrupted by Molly, who could finally hear the blasts of the card game now that Celestina Warbeck had finally finished her unholy wailing.

"Fred Weasley, you stop that this instant before you hurt her!"

Fred, George and Ginny looked around, all guilty-faced; Idril continued to grasp at the flying cards, giggling, following them towards the end table.

"It's okay, Molly, she'll be fine," said Rane, looking over at her.

"Rane, dear, she'll burn herself -!"

"Nah, it can't hurt her," said Rane. "Look."

And to everyone's shock, she pulled her wand, aimed it at Idril and said, " _Incendio_!"

Molly, Ginny and Fleur all cried out in horror; Ginny actually lunged forward, as if to snatch Idril, who had crawled just out of her reach chasing the cards. However, the jetty of flame that shot out of Rane's wand and towards Idril spun into nothingness just before they reached her, winding up into a haze of shimmering heat. It was as if there were an invisible force field around the baby. As the eddy of flame faded, they could all see that her eyes had faded from hazel to bright, iridescent blue. Her interest was with the Exploding Snap cards, which had fallen to the floor when Fred's wand dropped, however. She seemed not to have even noticed the stream of fire her mother had shot at her.

"What on EARTH!?" Molly shrieked, scooping up Idril, who was cooing happily and still grasping towards the cards.

"She's fine," said Rane, pocketing her wand. Fleur and Bill were staring at her in abject horror. "It can't hurt her."

" _Gracious_!" Molly cried, clutching Idril to her, her face pale. Idril was giggling, having lost none of her glee. Her eyes had faded back to hazel.

"Look, she set fire to some of my old Hogwarts books one night," Rane told her. She was sipping her firewhiskey, looking quite unabashed. "Crawled through it before I could stop her. Happened just the very same way. I wouldn't try to fry my own kid if I didn't know better," she added, smirking.

Molly let out an inarticulate, whistling sigh.

"Blimey," said George, clutching his chest. "Could've warned us, mate."

"'Ate!" Idril agreed gleefully, waving her fists. "'Ed! 'Orge! ' _Olly_!"

"Why, though?" Ginny asked. She looked as pale and shocked as her mother.

Rane shrugged. "I dunno. Probably inherited it from me."

"You can't burn?" said Ron, looking astounded.

Rane shook her head, not terribly eager to go into detail; over the past several months, she had briefed the Ministry more than enough over the various qualities that her Elven blood had granted her.

Molly set Idril down slowly, still moving with the slow deliberation that only a cautious mother can achieve; Idril crawled at once towards the fallen cards, which she slapped at happily.

"You'll give one of them a conniption if you keep it up," said Harry, looking amused.

"Well, it gets boring with just the two of us at Headquarters," said Rane, grinning to herself. "Lonely up there these days."

"Is it?" said Harry.

Rane looked over at him, her smile fading. He was looking back at her, his face long and solemn. So they had come to the subject of Sirius at last. She could deflect the half-cocked queries of everyone else here, but she found she could not quite bring herself to deflect Harry, who had loved him as fiercely as Rane herself had. She reached out and stole his hand in her free right one, squeezing it.

"Yeah, it is," she said, very quiet.

"Do you still miss him?" he asked her quietly.

Rane snorted. "You think I've forgotten him already?"

Harry made a soft sound. "No, but . . . Well, he's still so close, for me. I dunno how it is for . . . For anyone else who was close with him, I reckon."

Rane felt a flash of affection for Harry, so strong it almost undid her. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, man," she murmured, trying to sound light. "Harry, you don't even know. He's in _everything_ at Grimmauld Place. _Everything_." She paused, then added quietly, "even our pillows still smell like him."

She looked quickly at her firewhiskey glass, which was swimming before her.

"I miss him, too," Harry told her, and gripped her hand tightly. She felt his head fall to her shoulder and rest there.

Rane lowered her own head to the top of his, relishing the faint smell of him and the nearness of him. Their exchange of owls had kept them close, but the closeness she had wished for was here now, shut down by the Dursleys and even more so by his distance at Hogwarts. She blinked hard, but some of the tears fell into his untidy hair anyway. Before them, Idril was cooing at Ginny with delight, grasping at her curly red hair with relish. Rane found herself examining her daughter. Idril's angular face, her dark brows, her mop of black hair all alluded to her father. Rane could see him in her every gesture, even the very slightest smirk. She was nothing if she was not Sirius Black's daughter.

"She looks just like him, doesn't she?" said Harry, following her thought.

Rane had to stifle the first true sob of that evening then, and in that moment she realized that coming here might have been a mistake. Sirius was everywhere in this place, although she had never been here with him; he was on everyone's mind, though they hesitated before mentioning him in her presence. Most of all, Idril, puttering about on the carpet, was Sirius to the very life. She had trusted herself to control herself here, and after six months she felt that she might even be able to, but the truth was that the grief for him was as near now as it had been that prior summer, in the moment after he'd vanished beyond the veil. The loss of him, and his memory, was far too close.

Rane rose to her feet, averting her eyes. Idril looked up at her, her face long.

"'Ama," she murmured. "' _Ama_!"

"I'll be right back, my love," Rane told her, and strode off with her Firewhiskey glass. She came to the front door, pulled it open and shut it behind her, vanishing into the snowy garden.


	31. Remus and Rane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane speaks to Remus in private during Christmas Eve

"Rane, wait."

Rane turned, hearing the front door shut. Remus Lupin was striding out after her, pulling on a cloak against the cold. The starlight was low, and the moon was absent; Rane found herself pondering when Remus's last transformation had been. If the New Moon was already upon them, she put it at perhaps a week prior. Maybe that was why he looked so thin and shabby tonight.

Rane stood ankle-deep in snow, her arms wrapped about herself. Before her, the Weasley garden stretched out, well-maintained and cleared of snow, probably magically. A few garden gnomes were puttering around, yanking at carrots and looking crossly over at her. She imagined they were relatives of the one currently stuck to the top of the Christmas tree, and smirked despite herself.

Remus's crunching footsteps neared, and Rane felt his hand slip down onto her lower back. "He didn't mean anything by it," he said gently.

"It wasn't him," said Rane. She made an effort to straighten her back a little. "Harry's been great, we've talked a lot over the last few months. It's not him, it's Sirius."

"We all miss him," said Remus, and sighed, his breath puffing out in a whitish blur. "Me included. Not a day passes I don't think of him. And Molly, too. She spent most of yesterday night in tears about it, though heaven help you if you mention it."

"Did she?" Rane couldn't help but sound surprised. "I never thought they got along very well."

"Well, you were right about that," said Remus, smirking. "They disagreed over a great deal, Harry among them, but that shouldn't lead you to believe that she didn't care for him. They were cousins by marriage, and before Azkaban they spent time together with the Order. And she worries for you and Idril."

"Idril is going to be just fine. I wouldn't worry about her. She's a tough little thing already."

"Tough and fireproof," Remus murmured. Rane snorted.

"My dad wasn't amused by that little trick, either, he's pretty damn protective of her. He's still a little jumpy about the Elves trying to snatch her up, I think."

"I can imagine so."

A brief silence fell between them. The garden gnomes before them continued to patrol the garden, yanking at carrot stalks and grunting bad-temperedly.

"If it wasn't Harry, then what was it?"

Rane raised her hands and cupped them in front of her mouth, blowing into them against the cold; it was not warmth she was seeking, but an excuse to delay the conversation. Remus, seeming to sense her reticence, nudged her gently, his arm still about her waist.

"You're among friends, if you needed a reminder."

She looked up at him gratefully and squeezed him to her. "I know, Remus. One of my best."

He bent and placed a gentle kiss on her temple. She relished the heat of his breath, thankful for his company.

"It's just little things. Sometimes I think I'm doing okay, that I'm finally starting to feel better, then all of a sudden, _poof_."

She snapped her fingers.

"Right back to square one again. The other day I found a suitcase of his old robes, and dumbass me decided to open it . . . Remus, those robes still _smelled_ like him, like that aftershave he'd use sometimes. Do you remember?"

Remus was smiling sadly, nodding, his eyes distant.

"I got a face full, it about knocked me on my ass. And right then it was like it had been five minutes, not six months, he seemed so damn close. I sat there bawling my stupid eyes out over a _smell_. How dumb is that?"

She sniffed, wiped surreptitiously at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"I don't think it's dumb at all."

"It's kind of dumb."

"No. Not in the least." He paused, then added, "I'll tell you a secret, if you'll keep it between us."

"I love secrets."

Remus smirked. "I've kept every letter he ever sent me, Rane. Some from after he escaped Azkaban, some from as far back as the years we attended Hogwarts together. We would write to one another all summer, you see, the four of us. Sirius thought it of paramount importance to make sure I was managing my transformations without their company, much to his family's chagrin, I have no doubt."

Rane laughed, folding her arms before her and feeling the tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. "He didn't think you could swing it on your own, huh?"

"Without the rest of the troupe?" Remus laughed too, his own voice sounding suspiciously thick. "It seemed he'd conveniently forgotten about the sixteen years I'd spent as a werewolf before we met, I suppose."

"So anyways, these letters."

"Yes." Remus hung his head, and for a moment he was quiet. Rane glanced sidelong at him; his throat was working, and his wan smile had faded, exchanged for an expression of unchecked despair. In the darkness, he had given way to his grief completely, free of the constraints that were necessary in the company of others.

"I've tried to bring myself to open that box and go through those letters. Several times, in fact. But I don't think I can look at them, Rane. Not now, not yet. Not ever, perhaps, I sometimes fear."

He turned to her, his face quite naked, and Rane saw the tears glistening on his cheeks.

"The thought of reading Sirius's words from when we were all so young, before time got the better of us . . . of seeing the years and years of our friendship laid so bare before me . . ." He swallowed hard. "Of seeing his _handwriting_ . . . Rane, I can't bring myself to open that box."

Rane reached out and linked her fingers through his. This had certainly been their night for holding hands, that was for sure.

"So, no," Remus finished, "I don't think it's dumb that you felt that way when you opened that suitcase. I think grief takes time to heal like any wound."

"Jesus Christ. If I found a box full of his letters, I dunno what I'd do," Rane told him honestly. The very thought of it horrified her, even more than the suitcase had.

A silence fell between them. Rane looked down at her boots, which were still encased in snow. It looked bluish-white in the starlight, somehow comforting and peaceful.

"I wonder how it'll be for Idril a few years from now," Rane mused suddenly. "I mean, I wonder if she'll start to ask about him."

"At the rate she's going, she's liable to ask about him next week," said Remus, but he sounded downcast.

"The longer I can put off that conversation, the better."

"Will you stay tonight? Molly won't take no for an answer, I'm sure."

"I may have to," said Rane. The idea of staying at the Burrow didn't grab her, honestly; she was already craving the solitude that Grimmauld Place offered, where she could lay down with a glass of wine and indulge in her sorrow fully. "I'm in no state to Apparate the mini-me back to Headquarters, and it's getting late. Shouldn't have had so much damn firewhiskey. I miss our bed already."

Remus wrapped his arms around her and embraced her tightly, and Rane, surprised by the suddenness of this gesture, buried her face in his shoulder, hugging him back.

"Come inside," Remus said, drawing back. "Stay the night. Harry'll be thrilled."

Rane sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "Yeah, I guess. Come on, let's go inside."

THE livingroom of the Burrow had quieted considerably when Remus and Rane strode back in, shivering against the chill. Idril had crawled into Harry's lap, and the two of them were dozing on the sofa, Idril's head resting on Harry's chest and her tiny fists clutching his sweater, Harry with his head drooping onto his shoulder. Ginny and Molly were sitting on either side of Arthur, and the twins were both slumped on the far side of the fire, looking exhausted. Fleur and Bill were not in evidence, having clearly turned in.

"Oh, dear, we were just wondering where you two had gotten off to," said Molly, seeing them and offering them a wan smile. "Idril's drifted off on us."

"I thought she'd fall asleep on me, but she wanted Harry instead," said Ginny, smirking over at the pair of them snoozing on the far side of the room.

"Do you mind if I stay, Molly?" Rane asked. "It's getting on and I overindulged."

"We were hoping you would," said Arthur, smiling warmly at her. "We've already made you a room upstairs opposite Ginny."

A half hour later found Rane tucking the still fast asleep Idril into a little crib Molly had provided (Rane had no doubt that it had belonged to one of her children at least once . . . It had a secondhand look to it, but Rane found she rather loved it nonetheless). Idril had stirred only when Rane had removed her from Harry's chest, when she's cried out gently and reached for him, but moments later she'd fallen silent again. Harry's expression as they strode upstairs - full of affection and surprised gladness - had warmed Rane's heart to the very core. Sirius had been right, after all; he was the only godfather for Idril, after all.

Idril stirred gently as Rane tucked the blanket about her, then fell silent, her rosebud mouth relaxed, her sooty eyelashes fluttering as she dreamed. Rane pulled off her sweater and jeans and climbed into bed herself, taking care not to allow the bedsprings to creak too loudly.

She lay her head down, pulling the comforter around her shoulders, thinking as always on Sirius. His face came to her frequently in these moments after she lay her head down. It didn't last long though, not tonight; in moments, lulled by too much firewhiskey and too much grief, she was fast asleep, side by side with her daughter as the stars wheeled overhead in the winter sky.


	32. Rufus Scrimgeour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Minister of Magic visits the Burrow on Christmas Morning

Christmas morning was a boisterous event at the Burrow. When Rane trudged down to the kitchen bleary-eyed and mildly hung over (Idril, always a fiend for sleep, had not yet woken and would likely remain out for a few more hours), the Weasleys were gathered at the table comparing gifts and talking loudly over a lavish spread of sausages and toast. Remus was poring over the _Daily Prophet_ and a cup of tea. Everyone was wearing what looked like hand-knitted sweaters which Rane was sure Molly had made herself (Fleur was a notable exception), and Molly herself was sporting a brilliant new blue witch's hat and a lovely golden necklace.

"You look nice," Rane admonished, grinning at Molly as she sat down beside Harry, scrubbing at his untidy hair affectionately. Molly preened at once, looking delighted.

"Fred and George got them for me!" Molly beamed, grasping at her necklace proudly. "Lovely, aren't they?"

"Damn, it looks like I got into the wrong line of work," said Rane wryly, glancing over at the twins. "Maybe I should have cut out halfway through Seventh Year, too -"

"Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Rane," said George with aplomb.

Rane balled up a napkin and chucked it as his head, grinning. "How 'bout I unbecomingly put my foot up your -?"

"We haven't left you out," Molly was saying, pointedly ignoring Fred and George assailing Rane with retaliatory chunks of parsnip. "Nor Idril . . . Where is she, in any case?"

"Sleeping still," said Rane, sipping at her coffee. "You didn't have to get me anything, Molly, really -"

"Nonsense, nonsense," said Molly, handing Rane a thick, woven green stocking with her and Idril's initials - RR and IB- sewn into the front in bright purple. Rane took it, feeling instantly dismayed at its heaviness.

"Molly, there was no need - "

"Well go on, have a look!"

Rane looked at Molly, gormless, feeling utterly out of her element, then she reached into the stocking, digging around. The first thing she produced was a small white ball, which she laid before her on the table. It was firm but had a faint giving quality, like hard rubber.

"It's for Idril," said Arthur from down the table. "It changes into whatever she's thinking about. Give it a go."

Rane turned from him to the ball, then concentrated hard. In a sudden poof of golden smoke the ball had transformed into a small, blue toy bird which squeaked and strutted before her.

"That's brilliant!" Rane remarked, looking at Molly in surprise. The spell didn't last long . . . Already the cheeping bird was beginning to pale and expand. A moment later it was a white ball again. "That's a clever bit of magic . . ."

"Dung nicked a few in Diagon Alley, someplace," said Fred in a conspiratorial whisper. "The official story is that we got it from Gambol and Japes, though, so mum's the word. We traded him for a few Puking Pastilles, we're hoping to replicate it for the shop once we study it for a bit and stop them turning into naked ladies and shepherd 's pies every time George walks into the room -"

"You're not through yet, go on," Molly told Rane as George elbowed his brother. "You haven't even seen yours yet!"

Rane reached back into the stocking, and her fingers closed around something hard and square. She pulled it out and laid it before her.

Her heart seemed to seize inside of her, clenching like a fist against the shock that washed over her upon seeing this. It was a framed photograph of Sirius and her.

"How?" she heard herself saying faintly, gaping. "When -?"

"It was late in January, I reckon," Bill was saying from down the table, watching her over a piece of toast. Fleur sat at his side, sipping tea in silence and looking bored. "Mum wanted something for the pair of you from when you'd found out about Idril."

"Oh, it was everyone's idea," said Molly, flapping a hand. "Remus was good enough to frame it and keep it safe for us."

Remus was nodding. "We couldn't let anyone outside the Order get their hands on a photo of Sirius, obviously. I held onto it intending to give it to you both this Christmas."

Rane stared down at the photo, her breath caught in her throat. In it, she was standing on the patio of Grimmauld Place, a mug grasped in her hand. The steam that was curling up from its rim as well as the bare trees and gray sky behind them suggested it was winter. Rane was clad in her typical attire - a pair of low-slung, faded jeans and a gray sweatshirt that hung nearly to her knees, taking ten years away from her and making her look as lanky and endearing as a teenager. Her hair was tied back into a loose, untidy knot at the nape of her neck, and strands of it were wavering gently before her face in the gentle breeze. She wore a broad, genuine grin on her face; the happiness there turned her early morning prettiness into beauty.

At her side, wearing a white wife-beater and looking heartbreakingly handsome, was Sirius. He was looking over his shoulder, laughing, the early morning sun shining in glorious beams around his head. One of his hands was linked in Rane's belt-loop; the other was pushing his long hair away from his face. The hilt of his wand was sticking out of one back pocket, the inlays sparking in the sunshine. As Rane watched, the Sirius in the photograph pulled the laughing Rane to him, wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek.

"What do you think, dear?" Molly's voice came, seeming distant.

Rane sat frozen, staring at the photo, her mug of coffee forgotten at her side. She pulled her eyes away from Sirius's laughing face with an effort.

"I love it," she said softly, and managed a smile. "Thank you so much, Molly. Thank you all, you guys."

"Oh, we did hope you'd like it," Molly replied, looking relieved. "I've made Idril a sweater as well, she'll look just darling in it, I'll go fetch it once she wakes . . ."

Rane's smile felt stapled to her face. She looked back down at the photo, but found that she couldn't stare at it long without feeling a hollow, cheerless anxiety broiling in the bottom of her stomach. The photos at Grimmauld Place with Sirius in them were a rarity; his parents had done a fair job of purging the house of all traces of him once he'd left as a teenager. This was the only one she had ever seen with both of them together.

She glanced over at Harry, who was still sitting beside her. He was staring at the photo with the same expression of thinly veiled devastation that she was. He'd dropped the kipper half-eaten to his plate and was watching his Godfather's face sickly.

"Blimey," he muttered. "Bit . . . I dunno, bit odd, seeing him in photographs when you aren't expecting it."

"I know," said Rane, following his gaze. She did, too; since that summer when Sirius had been given his very belated pardon, photos of him had occasionally adorned the walls of the Ministry, typically with some kind of insincere caption that began _in memory of Sirius Orion Black_ followed by a solemn word about following through with procedure to prevent tragedies like this occurring (ironic, Rane often mused bitterly, that due process was touted as preventive when it was the very thing that sent him to prison). She thought them in revoltingly bad taste given the circumstances of Sirius's death, though it seemed to be Scrimgeour's greatest faculty to keep up appearances in spite of the absurdity; regardless, seeing Sirius's face suddenly while rounding a corner at work always made her stomach do an uncomfortable flip-flop.

"Do you have any pictures of him?"

"A few," said Harry. "You?"

"Now I do," said Rane. Photo Sirius and Rane had begun an ersatz waltz now, spinning around the patio and giggling.

She looked over at Harry again, who had picked his kipper back up and was attempting to eat it, however Rane could see his green eyes cutting over to Sirius every other bite. She shoved the photo back into the stocking with Idril's white ball and pushed it aside. She wasn't sure she wanted to look at it anymore, not just yet.

"What'd you get?" she asked him, trying to sound cheerful.

"Well, this," said Harry, tugging at the collar of his own hand-knitted sweater, which bore a giant golden snitch on the chest. "And Kreacher got me a load of maggots, so that was lovely . . ."

"What a sweetheart," said Rane dryly. Now that the photo of she and Sirius was out of sight, she felt a little lighter. "Albus says he's working at Hogwarts now, bet he's stoked about that."

"I try not to run into him if I can help it," Harry told her darkly.

"What about Ron?"

"Nobody got me anything," said Ron hastily from Harry's opposite shoulder.

"Right, well I expect 'nobody' won't be pleased to hear that," said Harry in a low voice. Ron glared at him, his ears red. "Honestly, _Won-Won_ -"

" _Harry_!" he hissed through clenched teeth, jerking his head towards Fred and George, who were poring over their food for the time being.

"Go on, show her!" Harry insisted.

"Yeah, show me," Rane agreed, leaning over with interest.

Ron looked between them, still pink-faced.

"Fine, but _don't_ tell anyone," Ron muttered to her. He reached into his pocket and conspiratorially pulled out a golden chain. At the end were the dangling words _My Sweetheart_.

"Jesus Christ," snorted Rane, "that's pretty bad, who gave you that? Hermione?"

Ron looked at Rane as if she'd just uttered a disgusting swear word.

"What? _Hermione_? Of _course_ not, why would _Hermione_ get me this?"

Rane scoffed. "Well, I assumed it was your girlfriend -"

"Hermione is _not_ my girlfriend," Ron spluttered.

"I thought you guys were -"

"- _completely_ barmy -"

"I mean, the way y'all _act_ around each other -"

"Well, we're _not_!"

Rane lifted both her hands, staring at Ron. Harry was snickering. " _Excuse_ me, I didn't know you guys weren't a thing, _sheesh_ \- !"

Ron muttered something about a load of rubbish.

"So who _did_ get it for you?"

"His girlfriend," Harry told her, still laughing. "Her name's Lavender."

"Shut up, Harry," Ron muttered, reddening.

"You know, I kind of hoped we'd be seeing Tonks," Rane said, pointedly diverting the conversation and ignoring Harry's snickering. "Have you guys seen her?"

"Ugh, zat Tonks, she eez ze _worst_ ," Fleur put in loftily, examining her fingernails. "Always knocking things over and -"

"I invited _dear_ Tonks to come along today," Molly interrupted, slamming down a bowl of carrots and throwing Fleur a nasty look. "She wouldn't come though. Remus, have you seen her lately?"

"I haven't seen much of anyone," Remus replied. "I'm sure Tonks has her own family to visit, doesn't she?"

"Hmm. My impression was actually that she was planning on spending Christmas alone," said Molly. Rane saw her throw Remus a dirty look and smiled to herself. Remus sipped noisily at his tea, looking self-conscious.

"Last I saw her was at the Ministry," Rane said. "She seemed a little down, didn't say a whole lot except that she was on duty at Hogwarts off and on this year."

"Will you be on duty there too?" Ginny asked her.

Rane nodded. "I was there just a couple weeks ago, actually, on the perimeters. I wanted to come say hi, but they've been pretty strict about what's allowed up there."

She had in fact been assigned to Hogwarts several times over the past few months, and was always happy to go, though she hadn't seen much of anyone, Albus included. Most of her job was patrolling the outskirts and making sure nothing seemed out of place. It was boring work, but she enjoyed her time there nonetheless; Hogwarts always felt like home. It was better by far than walking the beat outside the Ministry in London, in any case.

"Her Patronus changed," said Harry, looking at her. "Do you know why that might be?"

Rane glanced at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it was a rabbit," Harry told her, "then when we saw her at Hogwarts in September it looked different."

"Different how?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno, exactly. I couldn't tell what it was. Bigger."

Rane looked over at Remus, who was watching this conversation keenly. Seeing her eyes on him, he turned his gaze quickly back to his biscuits.

"What do you think, Remus?" she asked him loudly. "Why would a Patronus change shape?"

Remus took a moment to chew his turkey before answering. "Sometimes, a great emotional upset . . ."

"Yeah, those are in demand these days," Rane replied. Remus was avoiding her gaze.

"What's your Patronus look like?" Harry asked Rane, starling her out of her reverie.

"What?"

"I mean what shape does it take?"

Rane looked at Harry for a moment, feeling utterly taken aback. To her, it was as intimate a question as if he'd asked her what color her underwear was, but she could tell right away that Harry wasn't aware of that. The question had disarmed her; it seemed oddly personal.

"You mean the spell?"

Harry was nodding, chewing kipper.

"It looks like a jaguar," said Rane.

"Can I see?" Harry asked.

Rane glanced around at the Weasleys, who were all still eating and exclaiming over their gifts.

"Now?"

"Go on," said Ron, who was watching this exchange with interest,

Rane dug into her pocket for her wand. "Heads up!" she cried, and muttered " _Expecto Patronum_!"

A brilliant white cat sprung from her wand tip, landed on the ground and prowled off towards the end of the table, shoulders hunched, body low to the ground and tail switching back and forth malevolently. In a wisp of smoke it vanished. Fred, George and Arthur watched its diminishing hindquarters in mild interest.

"Did you see a Dementor?" Bill asked, sounding amused.

"Harry asked to see," Rane replied, her face reddening.

"I can make one too," Harry informed her proudly.

"A _Patronus_?" Rane was unable to mask her surprise. "Bullshit, can you really?"

Harry was nodding, looking pleased in spite of himself.

"A fully formed Patronus?" Rane remarked. "Harry, you're not even old enough to Apparate yet, who taught you that?"

"Professor Lupin," Harry said. Remus lifted his mug towards Harry, smiling.

"Harry taught us all last year at the DA," Ginny added thickly through a mouthful of turkey. "It's mad difficult at first, but once you get the hang of it, it's quite easy."

"I don't think it's easy at all," said Rane, deeply impressed. "I think you guys are crazy smart if you can all make corporeal Patronuses before you've even graduated . . ."

Ginny looked pleased with herself at this pronouncement. "Well, it took a _lot_ of work - Harry, show her yours, go on!"

" _Expecto Patronum_!" Harry said loudly. The end of his wand produced a whisp of silvery miasma, and for a moment Rane thought perhaps he'd not been concentrating hard enough on the happy memories necessary to undertake the spell - but then a great, silver stag leapt from its tip, landed lightly on the stone-flagged floor and cantered off elegantly before vanishing through the hearth.

"Holy shit!" Rane remarked in spite of herself.

"'Oly shit!" a small voice agreed stridently. Rane looked down to find Idril looking up at her from the side of her chair, grasping at her mother's shirt and smiling.

"Merry Christmas, baby, but that's a bad word," Rane said, snickering.

"Shit!" Idril beamed. Rane sat in silence for a second, looking at her curiously. For a moment she couldn't place what looked so strange, but then it hit her.

"She's _standing up_!" Ginny shrieked. "Mum, quick, look!"

Sure enough, Idril was balanced bow-legged against Rane's chair, her tiny bare toes clenched in effort, wobbling gently. Molly's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide.

"Oh, how wonderful!" she gasped. "Rane, has she ever done it before?"

Rane shook her head, then scooped Idril into her arms. "Nope, but I figured she'd start soon. How'd you get downstairs, little lady?"

"Oh, goodness, she isn't hurt, is she?" said Molly anxiously. "I thought we'd hear her, but I never thought she'd get out of her crib and come down the stairs -"

But Rane was shaking her head, looking amused.

"She won't get hurt, Molly," she said, smiling. "I've never seen so much as a scratch on her for all the falls she's taken. I mean, you saw me try to light her on fire last night . . ."

"Fire! Shit!" Idril agreed, and broke into happy giggles. Fred and George were laughing openly beside her.

"Blimey, she _must_ be related to you," Fred chuckled.

"No, Idril, that's _naughty_ ," Ginny was saying, shaking her finger and trying to look stern; she was grinning broadly in spite of herself, however. Idril continued to laugh happily, repeating the new addition to her lexicon thrice before catching sight of the plate of kippers and reaching for it adamantly.

"She's definitely mine," Rane said, bemused, handing Idril a kipper.

"You should show her the picture," said Bill.

Rane looked up at him, her smile fading. To her dismay, everyone else was watching too, Molly notable amongst them. She could feel Harry's eyes on her and knew that he was all to aware of the reticence she was feeling. Ignorant of the discomfiture around her, Idril continued to gnaw on her kipper, babbling happily.

Because there seemed to be no tactful way to say no to this suggestion, Rane reached into the stocking Molly had given her and pulled out the photograph again. On her lap, Idril ceased nibbling on the kipper and dropped it unceremoniously to the tabletop, watching. Rane reached around her daughter and held the photo before her in two hands, its glassy front facing them.

"Look, Idril," said Rane, and pointed. "That's your dad. That's Sirius."

Idril's face was oddly solemn. She stared for a few moments in perfect silence at the picture of Rane and Sirius, both of whom were laughing and clutching at one another in the wintry morning. Rane was acutely aware that the table had gone silent and everyone was watching her daughter. Rane could see Idril's bright eyes tracing the motions of them.

Then she reached out with two fingers and grazed the glass over her mother's face. "'Ama," she said softly.

"Yep, that's me, that's your mama."

Idril's fingers lingered on Rane's face for a second, then they moved to Sirius. Her tiny fingertips caressed there almost lovingly, her brows downturned, as if concentrating.

"That's Sirius," Rane told her gently. "That's your dad."

"'Ad," said Idril. Her face was screwed up in concentration. "'Ad. Si'us."

She turned her face to her mother's. "'Ad gone?"

Rane could feel her stomach heaving at these words, and it took every ounce of strength in her to not burst into tears right there. She took Idril's tiny hand in her own, looking into her daughter's eyes, so sentient and aware for so young a child.

"Yes, dad's gone," she said softly. "He's gone, Id."

Idril's eyes narrowed, and Rane could see them swimming with tears as she turned back to the photo. She caressed the photo again, staring into Sirius's laughing face. "'Ad," she whispered, sounding heartbroken. "'Ad. Si'us. 'Ama."

Rane took the photo, stuffed it back into the stocking, and hugged Idril to her tightly. She could feel Idril's tiny fists squeezing at her shirt.

"Idril, look at this!" Harry said suddenly. Idril and Rane both turned to him. He was holding the white ball Molly and Arthur had given her, and Idril's eyes, overbright and terribly sad, brightened at once at the sight of it. Rane could have kissed Harry, so great and rushing was her gratitude.

"Ball!" Idril cried, reaching for it. Harry handed it over to her, and at once it erupted into a puff of pinkish smoke; where it had been, a silvery toy replica of Harry's Patronus stood now on the table, rearing and throwing its antlered head about. Idril shrieked with joy.

"Guess she liked your stag," said Rane, swiping surreptitiously at her eyes and beaming at him.

"Arthur!" Molly suddenly shouted. She had risen from her chair, and she was staring out the window, her hand pressed over her heart. "Arthur - it's _Percy_!"

RANE wasn't sure who the redhead was striding up the walkway, in any case, but she did recognize his companion.

"Jesus, that's the Minister," she said in surprise. "That's Rufus Scrimgeour."

Sure enough, striding up through the garden with his loping gate was Rufus, accompanied by a young man Rane vaguely recognized from the Ministry. He was tall, skinny and rather geeky, with a pair of horn-rimmed specs and a neat head of bright red hair. She thought she'd seen him during Wizengamot inquisitions, but for a wonder she had never made the connection until now; that red hair was unmistakable.

"Is that one of yours, Molly?" she asked, surprised.

"That's my Percy!" Molly replied, sounding thrilled.

"I just never hear anyone talk about him, is all . . ."

"That's because he's a prat," Ginny growled at her side.

"The worst kind of prat," Fred agreed, low, glaring out the window.

"He had a row with dad at work," George informed her. "He wrote us all off for siding with Dumbledore about believing You-Know-Who had come back."

Molly was rushing around the table, her face flushed, before the knock even came at the door. She yanked it open with such fervor that the doorknob slammed into the wall loudly.

The Minister and the redheaded kid stood in silence for a moment, and then, very stiffly, Percy said, "Merry Christmas, mother."

"Oh, Percy!" Molly cried, throwing herself into his arms. Arthur, Bill, the twins and Ginny had not moved from where they sat; all three were glaring at Percy from the table.

"You must forgive the intrusion," said Scrimgeour from where he was leaning against the doorway, his arms folded, watching this scene with a smile. "Percy and I were in the vicinity - working, you know - and he insisted we drop in so he could see you all."

Rane didn't think Percy was terribly interested in seeing anyone there, however; he was staring fixedly over everyone's heads, his mouth a thin line in his face.

"We're only here for a few minutes, mind you, we can't stay," Scrimgeour went on as Molly dabbed at her eyes, beaming. He seemed quite immune to the vitriolic glares the rest of the family was throwing Percy. "I'll just have a quick stroll around the garden while you all catch up. Well, if anyone would like to show me around the garden - ah, how about that young man? He looks finished!"

Everyone looked at Harry. Rane didn't think for a single moment that Scrimgeour had chosen him at random. Harry didn't appear to, either. She stood abruptly, Idril on her hip.

"Ah, Rane, my dear!" Scrimgeour said genially, as if only just noticing her. "Lovely to see you outside of the Ministry, as always -"

"I'll come too," she said brusquely, and thrust Idril into Fleur's lap unceremoniously. Fleur accepted her with a surprised squeak.

"No, it's fine," Harry muttered to her, sliding his chair back and rising.

"I could use some fresh air," Rane replied evenly.

Scrimgeour's gracious smile faltered a bit. "Oh, no, Rane, I wouldn't want you to leave your meal on my behalf, naturally -"

"No worries, I'm done," Rane replied evenly, striding around the table and brushing past Scrimgeour and Percy. "Come on, Harry."

Harry rose and walked after her as well, glancing sidelong at Scrimgeour as he left the Burrow. Looking mildly perturbed, Scrimgeour shut the door behind him on the awkward stare-down between the Weasleys.

It was chilly outside, and neither Rane nor Harry had thought to grab a cloak, unlike Scrimgeour, who looked quite warm in his fur-lined hat and boots. He turned from the door, limping down after them into the garden, his yellowish eyes on Rane. She stood at Harry's side, staring back at him from over his shoulder watchfully. He loped over to them and stood at Harry's side, clasping his hands behind his back and staring out at the snow-covered garden with apparent interest.

"Charming, isn't it?" he muttered. "Charming, charming . . ."

Neither Harry nor Rane replied. She could see him cutting his eyes over to Harry out of her peripheral vision.

"Well, what brings you here this afternoon, Rane?" Scrimgeour asked her at length. "I'd have thought you'd be spending Christmas day with Wade . . ."

"He's in Ylle Thalas," Rane replied. "The Weasleys are good friends, they invited me."

"Oh, is that right?"

Rane said nothing, still not looking at him. She found her dislike for him rising in her gorge and realized with some surprise that she felt startlingly angry. It may have had something to do with seeing Sirius's photo so recently, or reminiscing about the posters on the walls of the Ministry featuring their loveless condolences after his death; in any case, she could feel her heart beating far too quickly, and her breath was puffing out before her in quick, white wisps.

"Well, I do miss working so closely with him as an Auror," Scrimgeour went on. "He is a talented man, there can be no doubt of that."

Neither Rane nor Harry replied to this. Scrimgeour continued to rock back and forth gently, his hands still clasped at his back, looking unperturbed. His graying hair wavered in the cool breeze, and Rane felt Goosebumps erupt on her bare shoulders.

"I've wanted to meet you for a very long time, Harry," Scrimgeour said. "A very long time indeed. Did you know that?"

"No," Harry replied. He was clutching his elbows against the chill.

"Yes, indeed, a very long time," Scrimgeour said. "Dumbledore is very protective of you, however . . . And it seems that Rane is, as well . . ."

"That's true," said Rane.

"And how do you two know each other?" Scrimgeour asked, glancing over Harry's head at Rane, his expression faintly vexed.

"Mutual friends," Harry answered.

"Indeed." Scrimgeour was nodding. "Indeed. Well, you could not have chosen a better mentor, Rane is an extraordinary witch and an excellent Auror."

This, too was met with silence. Scrimgeour cleared his throat, clearly recognizing that he wasn't going to get to be alone with Harry.

"In any case, I've been hoping for a chance to speak with you since I took office, Harry, but Dumbledore - most understandably, of course! - has been quite against the idea. The rumors flying around, after all!"

He rolled his eyes, laughing.

"Some of them are quite extraordinary. The Chosen One, and prophecies and such . . . It's all quite remarkable, naturally, quite remarkable indeed . . . I assume Dumbledore has discussed these matters with you?"

Rane glanced at Harry, curious in spite of herself. She had of course seen the _Daily Prophet_ with its sensational articles about Harry of late, but she had learned to take the _Prophet_ with a grain of salt anymore; it was them who had printed a headline about her being convicted of espionage and fired from the Auror's office not so very long ago, after all. She had never brought it up to him, thinking it far beyond worthy of discussion.

"Yeah, we have," Harry said.

"Have you indeed? And what has Dumbledore told you?"

"Sorry, but that's between us," Harry replied.

"Why are you here, Rufus?" Rane asked him abruptly.

Scrimgeour looked over at her, his gaze considerably cooler. "As I said, Percy and I were in the neighborhood, and he -"

"No, why are you really here?" Rane interrupted him coarsely. "To interrogate Harry about all this Chosen One shit? On Christmas?"

Scrimgeour turned to face her. "Rane, some would argue that whether or not Harry is indeed 'The Chosen One' -" He used air-quotes around the phrase. " - it is his duty to help set the minds of the Wizarding community at ease by showing his support for the Ministry! You, of all people, should understand that, being that you are an Auror -!"

"Yeah, and some would say it's your duty to make sure people are really Death Eaters before you chuck them in Azkaban!" said Harry heatedly.

Scrimgeour looked taken aback. "Harry, I don't expect you to understand, but I assure you, our due process is - !"

"Your due process wasn't enough to save Sirius Black," said Rane, glaring sidelong at him. "I don't see anyone talking about _that_ in the _Prophet_ every other day -"

Scrimgeour's expression cooled considerably as he looked over at her. He looked more lion-like than ever in the wan light.

"Rane, as you very well know, every piece of evidence we had available to us pointed to Sirius Black as the killer of Peter Pettigrew," he said. "It was a truly unfortunate and tragic accident that caused Black's untimely -"

"The Ministry sent him to Azkaban without a trial!" Rane shouted, rounding on him. "You sure you want to play that card?"

"The Ministry does not have any responsibility for what happened to Sirius Black. As you were present, I am certain you -"

"You want to go there, Rufus, do you really? Please, try me."

Rane spread her arms, heedless of the cold, glaring at him. Scrimgeour looked at her for a moment appraisingly.

"I see," he said after a moment. "I believe I see. I assume Black is the father of the child inside?"

Rane said nothing, abruptly aware that she had just put her foot directly into her mouth. Admitting she'd been involved with Sirius during his time as an outlaw could have repercussions, especially given her position.

"Of course, there were rumors that you were involved with Black," Scrimgeour went on coldly, "though I admit I had hoped you were a bit cleverer than that. In any case, I did not come here today to lament on his loss, however unfortunate it may have been."

Rane took a step towards Scrimgeour, her hand reaching into her jeans pocket and grasping her wand tightly. "You son of a -!"

"Rane, you should tread carefully," said Scrimgeour. He remained where he was, quite unafraid, watching her; Rane was reminded powerfully that he was an Auror above all else, and not easily rattled. "I have reinstated your father and you, however I am happy to rescind my confidence if I find you displaying volatility."

" _Volatility_!" Rane gaped at him, unbelieving.

"Yes! To say nothing of the fact that you have just revealed to me that you were aiding and abetting a wanted man, to the extent of conceiving a child with him," Scrimgeour told her. Rane made as if to move forward, but Harry reached out and gripped her wrist tightly, and she stepped back, breathing quickly, glaring at him.

"Harry," said Scrimgeour, turning his eyes away from her. "Back to what I was asking you -"

"I don't think I'd like to hear any more," Harry told him frankly. "I haven't forgotten . . ."

He lifted his hand, displaying the scars which had been etched into his skin by Dolores Umbridge: _I must not tell lies_.

"No one rushed to my defense last year when I was trying to tell everyone Voldemort was back," he went on. "The Ministry wasn't so keen to be pals last year. And Rane's right . . . Sirius is dead because of all of you."

An icy silence fell between the three of them: Scrimgeour, standing with his arms folded before him, staring at Harry, who was standing in front of Rane with one arm extended, and Rane, her fists clenched at her sides, glaring at the Minister.

"What is Dumbledore up to?" Scrimgeour asked Harry brusquely.

"No idea."

"And you wouldn't tell me if you did, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"And you?" Scrimgeour jerked his chin at Rane, his eyes hard. "You haven't forgotten, I trust, that I am the commander of your office, Miss Roth, however upset you may be after the loss of your boyfriend."

"My _boyfriend_ ," Rane muttered. The word felt almost sacrilegious in her mouth.

"That wasn't just her boyfriend, that was my Godfather," Harry told Scrimgeour, his voice cold. "And I wouldn't tell you a thing about Dumbledore."

"Well, then we shall have to see what we can find out by other means."

"You can try, but you seem cleverer than Fudge," Harry told him grimly, "so I'd have thought you'd learn from his mistakes. He tried interfering at Hogwarts. You might have noticed he's not Minister anymore, but Dumbledore's still Headmaster. I'd leave Dumbledore alone if I were you."

There was a long pause.

"Well, I can tell he's done a very good job on both of you," he muttered. He was gazing at Harry disapprovingly. "Dumbledore's man through and through, are you?"

"That's right," said Harry, and turning strode away from the Minister of Magic towards the Burrow. Scrimgeour watched him go, his brow furrowed, then turned his eyes back to Rane.

"Miss Roth, I suggest you reevaluate your allegiances," he said, looking at her with something akin to disgust. "For your father's sake as well as your own."

"I suggest you kiss my ass," Rane replied coolly, and turning she strode off after Harry, not looking back.


	33. Rane's Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane confesses to her oversight in her latest conversation with the Minister of Magic, revealing her relationship with Sirius.

"Rane, what in the hell were you _thinking_?"

Wade Roth was staring at his daughter from across the dinner table at Grimmauld Place, gripping the back of the chair he was standing in front of. Along the table sat Remus Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Albus Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley. Rane was slumped in her chair, one hand fingering a goblet of wine, the other at her lips, where she was gnawing restlessly at her thumbnail.

"You're overreacting," Rane muttered, not looking at him, muffled behind her hand. "It isn't that big a d -"

"Rane, _come_ on!" Wade replied waspishly, straightening and folding his arms. "You know that's a load of shit! I mean, I just can't believe you could be so goddamned _stupid_!"

Rane shifted uncomfortably, still not looking at him. It was New Year's Eve, a short week since she and Harry had rowed with the Minister of Magic outside the Burrow. Afterwards, she and Harry had watched from the kitchen window while the Minister stormed away, tailed by an insulted-looking Percy Weasley, whose glasses had been splattered with mashed turnip at some point during their absence by his begrudging siblings.

 _What did he want?_ Remus had asked.

 _He wanted Harry to support the Ministry,_ Rane had told him shortly as Idril toddled over to her and lifted her chubby arms to be picked up. She was indeed toddling now, not quite walking but grasping at things to guide her shaky footsteps; all in a morning's work. Despite her distraction, Rane felt a surge of pride as she scooped her daughter up. _Harry's made of sterner stuff, though, aren't you, you little badass?_

 _Ass!_ Idril had echoed happily, snatching at Harry's glasses and giggling. Harry had smirked as Rane ruffled his hair fondly.

 _And that was it?_ Remus had asked her, looking suspiciously at Rane as she hoisted Idril onto her hip. _We heard you shouting, Rane -_

 _Yeah, that was it,_ Rane replied, elbowing Harry gently. He glanced up at her, cottoning on, and remained silent. She hadn't thought it terribly wise to bring up what she herself had addressed with Scrimgeour, and not just because Molly was still wailing inconsolably in the corner, Arthur patting her gently on the back and glaring out the window.

But she had known, of course, that she would live to regret her heated words to Rufus, try though she might to smooth over what had just happened - he was an acute man, and ruthless when he wished to be. More importantly, she had pissed him off, and not for the first time. Rane's temper, always notoriously fickle, had increased conspicuously since the previous summer, when it had suddenly mutated it into something almost chaotic. These days her cool veneer was liable to morph into an unprecedented rage at the slightest urging, complete with hurling office supplies and shouting at interns. She had kept her grief for Sirius well-veiled from her colleagues, but the ricochets of that grief had not been vanished so easily. Not once or twice but a full six times in the past year alone, Rane had been called into her superior's office to discuss the latest meltdown and account for whatever she had destroyed most recently in her outburst.

And sure enough, not four days after Scrimgeour's visit, Rane had received an owl from his office, as she had known she would. It was a summons for a hearing, and she had kept it to herself almost exclusively, telling only Harry via owl, but her father, as an Auror himself and a sometimes-member of the Wizengamot, had learned of the hearing almost at once, and he had wasted no time in calling a meeting to address the issue.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Wade was shouting at her.

Rane said nothing, her brow furrowed. Wade reached into his robes pocket, yanked a scroll out of it and threw it forcefully down onto the table, where it unfurled.

"Read it!" he bellowed. "Read it for the rest of them!"

Rane raised her eyes to his, her mouth turned down.

"NOW!"

She glared at him for a moment mutinously, then reached out, drew the scroll towards her and shook it out, clearing her throat.

"'Dear Miss Roth," she began in a low voice, "'pursuant to intelligence uncovered by your point of employ, details have emerged regarding the nature of your affiliation with one Sirius Orion Black, lately deceased, who until recently was judged an enemy of the people by a jury of his peers.'"

Rane glanced up at her father coldly. "That's a lie and you know it -"

"Keep going," Wade barked.

Rane sighed. "'Due to the severity of this breach, which violates article fifty-eight of the Decree for Auror Integrity and Honor, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 8am on January 10th. Thank you and best of luck, Percy Weasley, Senior Assistant to the Minister of Magic.'"

Rane dropped the letter roughly. A silence fell among the Order members.

"Shit," said Tonks, low.

"So Scrimgeour knows about Sirius and Rane," Mad-Eye said, leaning back and folding his arms. "Excellent. This should be good."

"He doesn't _know_ anything, he's just _assuming_ ," Rane told him defensively. "It wasn't like I just came out and said that Sirius and I were -!"

"Well it seems to me that he knows enough to call in the Wizengamot!" Mad-Eye snapped at her.

"So what? Harry got summoned just for casting a stupid _Patronus_ last year -!"

"Yeah, under Fudge, who was an incompetent lackey trying to discredit Harry!" Mad-Eye told her harshly.

"Exactly," Wade snapped, "they don't call up the bench half-baked anymore, Rane, not without a good reason, and it looks to me like you gave them one -!"

"He's right," Arthur agreed, looking at Rane apologetically. "Scrimgeour isn't to be trifled with, Rane, he's much cleverer than Fudge."

Rane fell back into her chair, crestfallen.

"Rane," said Albus from down the table, "I would like you to tell me exactly what you said to the Minister when you met at the Burrow, if you please."

"Allow me," said Wade, rounding on him. "I got the whole damn shtick from the Minister after it -"

"Please, Wade," said Albus gently, lifting a hand and watching Rane.

Rane sat still for another moment, then snatched the goblet of wine up from the tabletop and downed it in a go. She sat up, looking over at Albus.

"He was trying to get Harry to side with the Ministry over all that shit they're printing about him," she said. "That Chosen One crap, I mean. And it just . . . It came around to Sirius."

"How so?" Albus asked her.

Rane hesitated. "He started going on about due process and justice, and I just - I guess I kind of blurted out that . . . Well, that Sirius hadn't stood to benefit from any of it," she finished lamely.

"Go on," Albus prodded, watching her closely.

Rane glanced around, slightly uneasy beneath the angry gazes around the table. "He trotted out Sirius saying that there had been rumors about us, whatever that means. Told me that he was happy to rescind what he'd given back to me and the Elves -"

Wade banged the tabletop with his fist, cursing.

"And what did he say about Sirius?" Albus pressed her. "Specifically."

"That I'd aided and abetted a wanted man," Rane replied. The words were seared into her memory. "And he mentioned Idril."

"What did he say about Idril?" Remus asked her sharply.

"He said he presumed the little girl inside the Burrow was Sirius's."

A thick silence fell around the table. Rane was looking fixedly at her hands, clasped before her on the table.

"So, with that being said," Wade said, looking at Albus, "what say you?"

Albus steepled his fingers before his face. He was still looking at Rane, who was avoiding his gaze.

"Rane," he said gently. "I am certain you are aware of the repercussions of what transpired between yourself and Rufus Scrimgeour."

Rane nodded, glancing up at him from beneath her brows.

" _Are_ you?" Wade snapped at her. "Shall I elaborate, in case it hasn't gotten through your thick goddamned skull tonight?"

"Dad -"

"The Elves stand to lose the alliances we _just_ regained, and I stand to lose my GODDAMNED JOB! And SO DO YOU!"

"Dad, the ELVES HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!" Rane shouted at him.

"And NEVER MIND THE _ORDER_ , WHICH YOU'VE JUST OPENED RIGHT THE HELL UP TO SCRIMGEOUR ALONG WITH EVERYTHING WE -!"

"Wade, that's enough!" said Arthur loudly, looking at him in dismay. "That's _quite_ bloody enough!"

"Yes, Wade, please, she _knows_ , there's no need to shout at her anymore," Tonks agreed in consternation.

"Your JOB, Rane!" Wade went on, ignoring them both. "Which, by the way, you've had back for SIX FUCKING MONTHS! And all because you can't get over your _boyfriend_ dying - !"

Rane stood suddenly, knocking the chair behind her over with a clatter.

"Don't you DARE bring him into this, Dad, don't you fucking DARE -!"

"Girl, before you get the notion that you can tell ME what to do, I guess maybe it slipped your mind that I'm not only your FATHER, I'm a goddamned MAETHOR - !"

"- I don't care if you're the Seventh Grand Prince of KIEV -!"

"- YEAH WE ARRIVED THERE ON OUR OWN, THANKS -!"

"- I'm NOT TWELVE and you need to CHILL _OUT!_ "

"OH IT'S _ME_ THAT NEEDS TO CHILL OUT -?!"

" _CORRECT_!"

"- OH, SO IT'S _ME_ TEARING THE MINISTER A NEW -?!"

"OY!" Remus bellowed suddenly.

Both Rane and Wade fell silent at once, looking at him in surprise. Remus had stood from his seat and was glaring at them, both hands flat on the table.

"Each of you, sit down and shut it!" he said loudly.

Wade scoffed. "I didn't -!"

"SHUT IT!"

Rane yanked her chair off the ground and popped a squat at once. Wade pulled his own chair out and seated himself as well, looking gormless.

"Bloody _hell_!" said Remus, lowering himself back down and shaking his head. "I've taught _third years_ who were better behaved! Having a go at each other like that in company, _honestly . . ._!"

"Yeah, the pair of you are giving me a headache," Mad-Eye agreed, rubbing his forehead and looking at Dumbledore. "What say you, Albus?"

"Rane," said Albus, still quite calm. "Tell me, do you think that Rufus _knows_ that Idril is Sirius's daughter? _Hush_ , Wade," he added swiftly. Wade shut his mouth.

"Yeah, I do," Rane told him reluctantly. Mad-Eye made a soft noise of frustration to her left. "He seemed pretty on top of it."

"And you say he mentioned rumors?"

"Rumors that I was involved with Sirius, yeah."

"Now, where do you suppose those came from?" said Tonks, glancing around. "Certainly none of us would have let slip . . ."

"It was Lordran," said Wade, his voice low.

Rane shifted her body toward him. " _Lordran_."

"Yep." Wade was rubbing the back of his neck, looking rueful for the first time that evening. "No doubt about it."

"Excuse me," said Rane, lifting one hand, "but did you say _Lordran_?"

"Wade, I was under the impression that Lordran had been punished for his transgression against the Order," said Albus. He had folded his arms across his chest and was looking perturbed.

"He's . . . well, he's not dead, if that's what you're asking," Wade muttered abashedly.

A communal groan rose among the Order members. Mad-Eye actually slapped the tabletop, his magical eye swiveling wildly.

"Wade, what are you on about?" Tonks asked him, dismayed. "That's not what you told us after he had a go at Rane -!"

"Iliwynn said he was going to be punished!" Remus agreed.

"Well, he _is_ being punished," Wade admitted, running his hands through his long hair. He hesitated, then added, "he's just a young guy, he lost his head. I asked her to go easy on him after it was all over."

"DAD, HE TRIED TO KILL ME!" Rane shouted.

"He's got guard duty until he dies!" Wade retorted, his face red. "Do you realize how long that is? He'll wish he _was_ dead before it's over . . ."

Albus leaned forward. "Wade, when I inducted you into the Order of the Phoenix, I asked you for your transparency above _all_ _else_ -"

"And for that I apologize," Wade replied. Rane had never seen him look so ashamed. "I had a moment of pity. I felt bad for him." He looked up at Albus. "He's just a kid, Albus. He fucked up, but he's just a _kid_."

Albus remained where he was, locking eyes with Wade. After a moment he leaned back.

"I commend you for your mercy," he said softly, "however, I would very much like if you communicated more efficiently in the future, Wade."

"Of course."

"Why do you believe that it was Lordran who let slip that Rane and Sirius were involved with one another?" Albus asked him.

"Because Rufus told me," Wade replied. "After the owl from his office came asking Rane to take her job back, he asked that I come to his office, and he said that an Elf had mentioned during his visit to Ylle Thalas that Rane was seeing Sirius."

"How can you be sure -?" Arthur began.

"Scrimgeour said he had dark hair, I bet," Rane muttered. "Didn't he?"

Wade nodded.

" _Damn_ ," said Mad-Eye, shaking his head.

"And how did the Minister react?" Albus asked.

Wade shrugged. Rane felt a rush of savage satisfaction; he was looking as disconcerted as she had felt at the beginning of the meeting now that he was being put on the spot for his own oversight.

"He said that he understood it was between the two of them. He let it go, he didn't mention it again after that. It was the last I heard of it until Rane got that summons, Albus, I swear -"

"And you never thought to mention that to any of _us_?" Tonks asked.

"It didn't seem important," said Wade quietly, shrugging.

"Iliwynn asked you to be on the counsel for his tribunal," Rane said. It was not a question.

"Yeah, she did." Wade looked up at her. The rage had left his face; he looked diminished.

"And you asked her to spare him," said Rane. "I don't doubt it for a single goddam second, and I bet you were the only one."

"I asked that he be spared, yeah."

"If there isn't a unanimous decision at a tribunal, they go soft," Rane said, addressing Albus. "All it would've taken was one vote against and he's off the hook."

" _Wade_!" Tonks admonished. "What the _hell_?"

Rane slumped back into her chair, looking at him.

"He tried to kill Idril and me," she said again. "And you asked Iliwynn for clemency."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think we need any more nastiness in the world right now," Wade said, low.

Rane looked at him for a moment, chewing her lower lip, then turned away from him.

"What do I need to do, Albus?" she asked.

Albus clasped his hands. "You need to attend the hearing," he said slowly. "And be as explicit as you can about the nature of your relationship with Sirius."

"Wade, if she does that she'll lose her job," said Mad-Eye harshly.

"And as regrettable as that is," Albus replied evenly, "the Order, as I have mentioned many times before, is more important than the sum of its parts, Alastor."

"The Order will suffer from losing an Auror," said Remus. "There are already far too few of them as it is, Albus."

Albus nodded. "I concur, Remus, and with any luck Rufus will show mercy to Rane for her transgression. I feel that this is less about the fact that Rane was involved with Sirius while he was still a fugitive and more to do with the Minister attempting to demonstrate his power and show the greater public that the Ministry is still purging what they deem to be unlawful activity."

"Do you think he'll let me off?" Rane asked him nakedly.

"I do not know," Albus replied. "But I assure you that I will do everything in my power to discourage that."

"So she's just supposed to tell Scrimgeour everything about the Order?" said Tonks.

"No!" Albus replied. "Absolutely not. The Order must necessarily have nothing to do with the hearing. And Rane, I would advise you to leave Idril and Harry out of the proceedings as well."

"Harry? Why Harry?" said Rane.

"Because Harry is what the Minister is really after," said Albus. "And I believe that the reason he is currently striking at you is because he feels that you interfered with his efforts to give Harry cause to support the Ministry."

The table fell silent, absorbing this.

"The Order's integrity must be maintained _at all costs_ ," said Albus slowly. "The Minister must not learn how Sirius and Rane came to become involved with one another."

He looked pointedly at Rane.

"Do you understand?"

Rane nodded, swallowing. "Yeah, of course."

"Do you think he'll try to throw her in Azkaban?" Wade asked Albus bluntly. "Is that legal?"

"Certainly it is," said Albus grimly. Rane's stomach turned cold. "But we will work to prevent that if we can. And now," he added, rising, "I must make my way back to Hogwarts. Rane, Wade, please stay in touch with me. I will be in contact."

And with this, he turned and strode out of the kitchen, his purple robes swishing behind him.


	34. The Journey to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane travels to the Ministry for her hearing

_Rane,_

_Hope you're well. I bet you're starting to get nervous about your hearing. It will be fine, I was nervous about mine too and it ended up okay. Scrimgeour is a prat but at least he's not as thick as Fudge was._

_I have a lot to tell you. Dumbledore's still teaching me about that thing I told you about, I wish I could tell you more but he made me promise I wouldn't. The last time we met was a few nights ago and it was mad. I can't wait til I can fill you in. I have a lot of questions to ask. Some of this magic is really strange and even Hermione doesn't understand it._

_I found a few old letters from Snuffles. I want to show you when we see each other again. Hermione says I shouldn't be talking about him in letters with you too much just in case._

_Apparition exams are happening in a couple weeks. I'm nervous. Everyone in the DA thinks I should be great at it since I've done it before Side-Along, but it isn't the same. Hope I do alright._

_I found some really odd spells written in that potions book I told you about and I haven't been able to find any of them in the library. When I asked Lupin over Christmas he said spells go in and out of fashion and somebody may have made it up. Maybe you'd recognize them?_

_Dumbledore says maybe next time you're on duty at Hogwarts after your trial I can visit you. He says he'll tell me when you're nearby. How is Idril? Hermione still doesn't believe that she said my name at the Burrow._

_Harry_

Rane stared at the letter for another moment, smiling in spite of herself, then folded it tenderly up and tucked it into her pocket. Hedwig was preening herself distractedly on Rane's windowsill, her silky feathers glistening in the early morning sunlight. Rane stroked the side of her head gently.

"Give me five," she said, and dashed into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Hedwig continued to preen herself as the clanging of a drawer being rifled through echoed from the next room. Outside, the sun continued to rise, casting the grim grounds of the Black property into happy contrast. Though the ground still lay beneath a thin layer of snow, the trees that leered above it were budding, the tiny green shoots barely perceptible.

An enormous crash sounded from the kitchen, followed by Rane cursing sharply. Hedwig tilted her head toward the sound, then lowered her beak curiously to the steaming mug of coffee on the tabletop, sending up gentle curls of steam in the dusty livingroom.

"Okay," said Rane, striding in and brandishing a sheet of parchment and a quill. "Hang tight, little lady. And get out of my cuppa."

Hedwig took a prudent step back from Rane's coffee, her talons clicking on the tabletop, and ruffled her wings. Rane flattened the parchment before her, sucked on the tip of the quill for a second, then began to write.

_Harry,_

_Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. We'll be laughing about it a week from now. I sat through lots of inquisitions when I was interning and they seem scary at first but they're all pretty boring. You should know!_

_I can't wait to hear about what you've been up to with Dumbledore, but remember that the Ministry is screening owls now. I know you're smart enough to know better, but trust me, they're getting a little crazy._

_Apparition is cake once you get used to the way it feels. If Albus is okay with it, maybe I can give you some unofficial lessons when I'm there for duty. I'll nearby soon, but I won't tell you when in case Hedwig is intercepted. Albus will be able to tell you more._

_I put the photo the Weasleys gave me on Idril's wall (she's in his mom's old room now, I painted it a nicer color) and she loves looking at it and talking to it when she's supposed to be sleeping. Still sends a chill up my back seeing his face sometimes. Even now it seems so weird not to have him around._

_I miss you terribly and I can't wait to see you again and hug you. Idril says hello. She's as talkative as I am now, and wandering all over the house too. She's officially not a Squib, by the way - it seems awfully young but when I went to wake her up a few days ago all her toys were floating near the ceiling and she was laughing fit to split. She really is her father's daughter!_

_Hope you're keeping the DA up to speed! As an official Auror for at least a few more days, I can tell you that it's looking pretty scary out there and we all need to stay alert. "Constant vigilance," as Mad-Eye loves to say (especially when he's been drinking)._

_All my love,_

_Rane_

Rane set her quill down and read over her handiwork, lamenting her untidy handwriting as always. Hedwig hooted gently at her side, ruffling her feathers, clearly ready to be off.

"You want to get back to Harry, I know," Rane muttered, rolling up the scroll. "I get it, I love him too."

Hedwig nibbled at her wrist and flapped her wings. Rane secured the scroll to her foot and stroked her head once more.

"Go on. And don't get pulled over."

Hedwig gave her a final look, her brown eyes solemn, then turned and flew out of the open window. Rane watched her until she was out of sight, then shut the shutters against the morning chill.

She glanced at the clock near the foyer. It was ten to seven. She got to her feet, feeling an uncomfortable rush of anxiety, and made her way upstairs to get dressed for the hearing.

MOLLY had agreed to stop by and entertain Idril while Rane was at the Ministry, and with surprising eagerness. Rane rather thought that she was experiencing a touch of empty nest syndrome with her progeny largely gone to Hogwarts and Percy clearly back on the outs. Twice at the Ministry, Rane had spotted Arthur and Percy come within touching distance, both of them pointedly ignoring one another. Though Rane didn't know Percy, she could certainly empathize with the gracelessness of being stuck in the office with a parent who was pissed at you; Wade had been giving Rane the cold shoulder treatment since the Order meeting, and the necessary encounters they shared for work purposes were stiff and surly. Rane had not forgotten about his confession that he had vouched for leniency during Lordran's tribunal, and clearly Wade had not yet forgiven her for her loose lipped argument with Scrimgeour. It was an unpleasant deadlock and it would have to be addressed sooner or later, but Rane was far too focused on the trial to lose sleep over it.

"Goodness gracious, would you look at that!" Molly was exclaiming with delight as Idril came waddling towards her, stretching her chubby arms. "Not so much as a hitch in her step, and not even six months old!"

"Yeah, she's not wasting any time," said Rane as Molly scooped Idril up. "Fair warning, she's worked out how to open doors so I've started charming them locked. As a matter of fact, _Colloportus_!"

She aimed her wand at the nearest closet door which locked itself with a clink.

"I chucked most of Kreacher's weird stuff in there after Albus sent him to Hogwarts," she explained, pocketing her wand. "Who knows what he's hoarded away that she'd love to get her paws on, but knowing how the Blacks were, I bet half of it is still cursed . . ."

Idril placed both of her hands on Molly's cheeks, looking at her solemnly. "Molly," she said. "Idril."

Molly giggled, patting her chest. "Dear me, but I don't know if I'll ever get used to that."

"How do I look?" Rane asked, spreading her arms. Molly turned a critical eye on her, looking her up and down. She'd donned a pair of jeans, a black shell top and a green blazer.

'The heels are a bit much, and you should put your hair up," said Molly. "But really you look lovely, dear, as always."

Rane glanced down at her shoes - a rather ridiculous pair of open-toed pumps that had been sitting in her closet collecting dust for ages - and sighed. "I thought they might make me look more professional. Hang on, let me go grab my boots -"

She turned and sped upstairs, wobbling alarmingly. Molly and Idril watched her go.

"Goodness, I hope she doesn't fall," Molly muttered, listening to the awkward clunking of Rane's footsteps a floor up.

"Mama fall," Idril agreed, following her gaze. " _Boots_."

Ten minutes later found Rane snapping her blazer up hastily and shoving her wand into her jeans pocket, her face harried. She had taken Molly's advice and tied her long hair into a high knot, but in her haste and worry strands had escaped and were hanging around her face.

"Just stay calm," Molly told her, taking her by the shoulders and smoothing her hair back. "You'll be just fine. Remember what Albus told you. Will Wade be there?"

"I dunno, he's still not talking to me," said Rane.

"Well, he'll come round, parents always do," said Molly, but Rane could see her frowning, clearly thinking about Percy.

"Yeah, eventually - he's got the next seven centuries to chew on it . . ."

"Oh, hush," said Molly scathingly. "Now hurry along before it gets too on, they don't look kindly on lateness as you well know . . . I've asked Arthur and Tonks to see you in, they should be waiting for you near the chambers . . ."

Rane looked at her gratefully. "Thanks for that. And for looking after the midget, too."

"Midget!" Idril cried, and tugged at her mother's jeans. Rane knelt and swept her into her arms, placing a loud kiss on her temple.

"You take good care of Molly," she said sternly. "Love."

"Love!" Idril replied merrily. "Mama!"

Rane tweaked her chin fondly then stood, turning for the door.

"Next time you see me, I'll still be an Auror," she told Molly. "Count on it."

And with that, she swept out of the foyer of Grimmauld Place, the door shutting loudly behind her.

THE Ministry was bustling, even so early. As Rane strode into the vestibule, smoothing her top, she was very surprised to spot her father loitering around the next Floo over, his arms folded, looking impatient. As soon as he clapped eyes on her he made for her, walking quickly.

"You're damn near late!" he snapped as he approached her. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Well, first of all, good morning," said Rane derisively, continuing past him toward the wand inspecting station, where a wizard in bright blue robes was buried beneath a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. "Secondly, yes, I _do_ know what time it is, I've still got twenty minutes before they even start -"

"Look, you can be pissed at me later," said Wade seriously. "This is a big deal, they have grounds to put you away for this . . ."

Rane avoided his eyes, trying to maintain her easy gait, but she felt an unpleasant swoop of fear in her stomach at these words. "That's not exactly encouraging right now, dad."

"All I'm trying to say is we need to hurry up and get you down there. ERIC!" he snapped impatiently, and rapped the surface of the desk they'd arrived at with his knuckles. The wizard behind the _Prophet_ started, dropping his paper with a clatter and looking at Wade reproachfully.

Rane dug into her pocket and offered her wand to the wizard, who stared at it in bewilderment.

"You work here, love," he said, looking at her as if she were an idiot.

"I'm here for a hearing," Rane replied shortly.

Eric sighed, looking put out, and snatched the wand from her, dropping it onto the curious set of scales before him. After a moment, a slip of paper popped out of a slot near the bottom. Eric tore this off and held it before his face, squinting.

"Thirteen and a half inches, ebony, augury tail feather core," he rattled off. "In use fourteen years. Correct?"

"Correct," said Rane impatiently, snatching up her wand as Eric impaled the slip of paper on a spike nearby.

"Augury. Hmm. An odd choice -"

"She's not from around here," Wade told him, still looking impatient.

"Explains the accent," Eric said, looking bored. He waved them away and vanished behind his _Prophet_ again. "Proceed to Level Two."

Rane cast a dour look over her shoulder at him as they strode off.

"Sheesh, I see that guy every morning, you'd think he'd at least say hi . . ."

"Never mind that," said Wade briskly, keeping stride. "You want to go over what we talked about real quick?"

Rane shrugged, stepping into the elevator with him amid a hovering cloud of interoffice memos. "I don't think I should over-think this, dad, if I start making it into a script I'm going to fuck it all up -"

"Don't mention -" Wade glanced around him furtively, though they were quite alone. "- don't mention the _Order_. Don't even allude that you had common acquaintances or -"

"Yeah, I got that part."

"You met Sirius on a fluke. Sometime last summer, after you were already fired, maybe around June or July -"

"Well that part's true," Rane remarked, smirking.

"- say you were . . . I dunno, hiking or something," Wade went on, almost to himself. "Didn't recognize him, maybe - "

"Well, that's not gonna fly," said Rane, "his face was all over the Auror Office for three years, in case you forgot -"

"Well you were never in charge of the investigation, that was Kingsley," said Wade, looking nervous.

"Come on, dad."

"I mean, they didn't drill it into your head what he looked like, you were -"

"Yes they did." Rane took a breath and released it. "I can't say that, dad, obviously I know what he looked like. I'm an Auror. Rufus was right there for all of it, he was the _one_ drilling it into our heads . . ."

"Okay, then what _are_ you gonna say?" Wade asked her impatiently

Before Rane could answer, the elevator doors slid open with a ding, followed by a cool female voice announcing, "Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters,

and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee."

A tall, cross-looking wizard and a short blonde witch slid their way in, the witch clutching a box in which a faint rustling could be heard.

"Oh, hello, Wade!" she said, catching sight of him. "All right?"

"Hey, Jeanie," Wade replied distractedly. "Busy morning?"

"Oh, this?" said Jeanie, gesturing at her box. "Someone's jinxed a café in Portsmouth, all the coffee pots have turned a bit savage. This one nearly took somebody's arm off."

"That so?" said Wade stiffly. "Haven't heard."

"Oh of course, _you_ lot wouldn't know about it," Jeanie went on, grinning, "it's a bit below the Auror pay grade. Don't you live close to there? Portsmouth, I mean?"

Wade, looking incredibly edgy, said, "Yep."

Before Jeanie had a chance to reply the elevator doors slid open and she stepped out amid a flurry of memos. The grumpy looking wizard followed suit, sidling past her and hurrying off. Wade looked unabashedly relieved.

"Well, this is me, see you round!" she called brightly over her shoulder as the elevator doors slid shut.

"You were saying?" said Rane, looking at him.

Wade sighed roughly. "Well, there's not time now, just - just try to -"

""Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

There was a gentle ding, and the golden elevator doors slid open a final time, revealing a corridor Rane was very familiar with. She and Wade exited, the swarm of interoffice memos fluttering out as well. To their left was the Auror Office, its sign hung slightly askew on the open door, where Rane and Wade both spent so much of their time. The office was as loud and boisterous as always, full of laughter and talking, the smells of fresh coffee wafting into the hallway. Rane felt a genuine pang and found her eyes lingering in the doorway as they strode past.

"Focus," Wade murmured to her, intuitive as always. "You'll be back in there by tomorrow afternoon."

The corridor opened up as they proceeded and the busy sounds of the Auror Office faded behind them. There was a heavy iron door a ways ahead, and beside it Rane recognized the forms of Arthur Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks, their backs to Wade and Rane, speaking in low voices. Rane felt a jolt of gratitude upon spotting them.

"Finally!" Tonks said, turning. Her hair was no longer bright pink and spiky but a rather sad, mousy brown, cropped short and pushed behind her ears. "Where've you lot been? It's nearly ten till!"

"Alright, Rane?" Arthur asked, striding towards her and placing a bracing hand on her shoulder. "Feeling okay?"

Rane opened her mouth to answer that she was fine, but found that her voice seemed to have deserted her. She settled for a nod instead, her face pale.

"Okay, it's a full inquisition, you ought to know,' said Tonks, looking between them. "The whole Wizengamot's in there -"

"Fuck!" Wade exclaimed, running his hands through his hair. " _Why_?"

"Probably because the Minister is angry with Rane," said Arthur, glancing apologetically at Rane, who swallowed hard. "Look, it'll be okay, just do exactly what Dumbledore told you, as long as the Order's safe it'll be fine."

"He just wants to scare you, mate," Tonks told Rane bracingly, but she looked frightened. "Go along with it, it'll be over with before you know it."

Arthur glanced at his watch, frowning. "Look, Rane, you better get in there, it's getting on -"

Rane was seized with a sudden, panicky fear. She had visited Azkaban only once, during her Auror training, but that, coupled with the tales Sirius had told her, was enough to frighten her nearly to death. The idea of spending years there, while her daughter grew up alone, out of her grasp -

She groaned, rubbing at her face. "God. Oh, fuck. I'm starting to freak out."

"Don't freak out!" Arthur told her, looking alarmed.

"We won't let them chuck you in prison," said Tonks staunchly.

"I'm gonna go to Azkaban," Rane muttered, dragging her fingers down her cheeks. She looked suddenly at Wade, who was watching her, his face white. "Make sure Idril is taken care of, dad -"

"Stop."

"- she's little, just get her squared away, make sure she's safe, and tell Harry I love him, I don't want him to think -"

" _Stop,_ Rane! Jesus!"

Rane's mouth snapped shut, and abruptly she lunged forward and threw herself into her father's arms. He wrapped them around her at once, squeezing her tightly to himself.

"Dad, I'm sorry about all of this, I'm so sorry," Rane said quietly. "I love you."

"I love you too, girl," Wade replied faintly. "It's okay. I'm sorry too."

He pulled her back by her shoulders and smoothed her flyaway hair out of her face, his mouth a thin line in his face.

"Get in there and get this over with," he said. "You'll be alright. We'll be right here waiting for you. Got it?"

Rane mouthed silently at him. Her tongue felt as dry as a rug.

"Take a breath," said Wade. He sucked one in and released it to demonstrate.

Rane did, exhaling shakily.

"Now, breathe," Wade told her, "and get in there. You're going to be okay."

Rane looked at him for another moment, then turned, glanced briefly at Tonks and Arthur, then straightened her jacket and strode to the iron door, pushing it open. She didn't look backwards; she feared that if she turned away, she would simply flee. The cold air of the packed auditorium rushed out at her, and the low chatter of the Wizengamot quieted as the door closed behind her.


	35. The Wizengamot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane's hearing

When the heavy iron door shut behind her with a loud, resonating clang, Rane was left standing alone before the Wizengamot, who were sat in their usual semicircle, looking both archaic and disapproving. Magic or no, the room was wide and tall and their location deep beneath the mid-Winter ground of London had left it terribly cold. The thick torches, as big as bolsters, sent up grim curls of steam against it as they burned near the walls where they floated.

Though she'd played up a big game for Harry earlier that morning while fearing he was worrying for her, Rane had only been within the Wizengamot's hearing quarters once before; Aurors were far greater suited in the field fighting dark wizards, and therefore were rarely invited to sit on the board while a trial was taking place. This arena was only vaguely familiar to her, consequently, and therefore much less inviting. The floor was iron-gray, stone-flagged and bare, and the seats surrounding the center were high and prohibitive. In the middle stood a stone chair. Chains draped from its arms, glittering malignly in the low light.

There were at least three dozen faces staring at Rane, and all of them looked dour and unfriendly. Rane didn't recognize them all, but many were familiar to her from her years at the Ministry, at least on a glance: Amelia Bones, Dolores Umbridge, Brunhilda Stokke, Ernest Hawkwarth and a slew of others. Rane was rather surprised to see Cornelius Fudge among them, clad in a pin-striped suit and looking considerably more diminished than when Rane had seen him last some six months prior, just before he'd announced his resignation as Minister and his intent to remain on in a consultative capacity per the new regime's wishes. He had the look of a man who's lost a good deal of weight in a short time, leaving his face rather flabby and shadowed. He was watching Rane in silence, expressionless.

At the fore sat the Minister himself, Rufus Scrimgeour, this morning clad in the deep puce robes of the Wizengamot, an ornate silvery W stitched over the left breast.

"Rane Roth," said Rufus, his voice echoing formidably. "And very nearly a moment too late."

"Good morning, Rufus."

"You may address those in attendance by their formal titles in this room," Scrimgeour replied, looking at her imperiously.

Rane cleared her throat, looking up at him. Now that she was here - now that the ball was rolling, as it were - her trepidation had begun to unexpectedly fade. She wasn't unafraid, exactly, but she wasn't panicking any longer, either. She felt almost unnervingly placid; her racing heartbeat had slowed to a measured, steady thump in her chest, her breathing had become regular, and she was able to survey her surroundings with the same cool, calculated control that had been taught to her in Auror training. She wondered distantly if she was in shock or simply giving herself over to the situation and allowing her instincts - both Auror and Elven - to take over. Either way, it was a relief to feel the trembling fear dropping away from her muscles, allowing her to survey her situation properly.

"I'm sorry, Minister," she said.

"Take a seat," said Scrimgeour, gesturing to the chair in the center of the room. Rane strode to it and did so at once; the chains on the arms rattled ominously at her presence. Rane heard a frantic scribbling sound and turned her eyes towards the nearest pew to her, where Percy Weasley, of all people, was taking notes furiously, his quill flickering.

A beat of silence passed in which Scrimgeour could be heard rustling the stack of papers before him, his brow furrowed.

"This is a punitive hearing," he announced. "The date is January the Tenth, and our purpose is to explore offenses committed under Article Fifty-Eight of the Decree for Auror Integrity by Rane Gwendolyn Roth of Number Nineteen, Thirty-Eight Renaissance Court, Temple, London. Interrogators: Rufus Brutus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic; Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Advisor to the Minister; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."

Rane looked around, unsure if she should greet them or something. In the end she decided to keep her mouth shut.

"Will the accused please state her name, rank and place of origin for the record?" said Scrimgeour, rifling through his papers.

Rane cleared her throat again, crossing her legs. "Rane Gwendolyn Roth. Auror, Ministry of Magic. United States."

"It was my impression that you were born in Ylle Thalas," Amelia Bones asked her, leaning forward.

"No, ma'am," said Rane. "I was born in North Carolina. My dad's family is from Ylle Thalas."

"The Elven city, you mean?" said an elderly witch from another row.

"Yes, ma'am."

"So it is true that you're half Elf?" said the witch, sounding impressed.

At Scrimgeour's side, Dolores Umbridge made a soft sound of dissent, eyeing Rane distastefully.

"On my dad's side, yeah," said Rane, glancing at her.

"For those who don't know, Miss Roth's father, who is a full-blooded Elf, is also employed here in the Auror Office," said Umbridge, smiling sweetly at Rane. "Isn't he, dear?"

"Wade Roth, that's right," said Rane, not returning her smile.

"The senior Auror?" asked a wizard near the back.

"I . . ." Rane looked between Amelia Bones and the wizard, baffled by this turn. "Yeah, that's him."

"Oh, I _do_ like that man," said a witch sitting behind Umbridge, elbowing her neighbor. Scrimgeour cast them a stern glance over one shoulder.

"Let's move on, please, with the knowledge of Miss Roth's heritage safely below our belts," said Scrimgeour, glancing impatiently around him. "Miss Roth, are you aware why you have been summoned to stand before the Wizengamot today?"

"I am."

"Before we proceed, you may call upon your witnesses."

Rane hesitated. "I didn't know I got witnesses - "

"Standard procedure," said a sallow wizard on Scrimgeour's left, looking down his nose at Rane. "An Auror ought to know that."

"Okay, well . . . well I have none, then."

"Very well, let us get right to it." Scrimgeour lifted his voice so that the rest of the Wizengamot could hear him clearly. "For the purpose of record-taking, Rane Gwendolyn Roth stands accused of engaging in interaction of varying degrees with Sirius Orion Black, who at the time was considered an enemy of the people due to a conviction of thirteen counts of non-wizard murder, one count of wizard murder and a subsequent escape from Azkaban. The Auror's Code strictly prohibits aiding and abetting convicted criminals, which holds legal sway even if the individual is no longer employed with the office. Miss Roth repeatedly and deliberately failed to alert the Ministry of Magic of her knowledge of Black, including his whereabouts, for an unknown length of time. It is the position of this office that Miss Roth was involved romantically with Black and may have conceived a child with him, suggesting that she was privy to Black's location possibly for as long as a year."

Scrimgeour cleared his throat, rifling his papers for another moment. Rane sat in anguished silence, pursing her lips.

"Although the law is quite clear," he went on after a second, "the fact that Black was recently cleared of the charges leveled against him posthumously makes these charges somewhat more nebulous. It is this fact, and this fact alone, that prevented immediate arrest and conviction. As it stands, the Wizengamot will, upon conviction, condone a sentence of six months to one year's time in Azkaban and removal of all titles and benefits associated with employment at the Ministry of Magic."

Rane swallowed. Six months to a year. It was far worse that she'd suspected it might be. A year's time without Idril seemed as good as a death sentence. She could feel threads of fear wriggling up through her cool demeanor again.

"Do you understand the charges as I have described them to you?"

"Yes," Rane croaked.

"And how do you plead?"

"Not guilty," said Rane at once. Dumbledore had been quite clear on this part; he had suggested that any admission of guilt of any kind would be sufficient for Scrimgeour, and Rane believed him.

Scrimgeour eyed her for a moment distastefully, then looked back to his stack of papers.

"Very well." He glanced at Fudge, who was fiddling with his robes. "Cornelius, to begin, can you please comment on the Wizengamot's relief of Miss Roth's duties that occurred last summer?"

Fudge fidgeted a moment longer, then cleared his throat. "Roth was becoming a liability," he said, sounding horribly rehearsed. "Her affiliation with the Elves was far too close and the Ministry stood to lose crucial intelligence, so we decided to sack her."

"But was her affiliation with the Elves ever quantified?" said Amelia Bones.

Fudge glanced at her, still fidgeting. Whatever boisterousness he'd once possessed was long since gone. "Madame Bones, as I recall, you were involved with the process of Roth's -"

"Well, I would hardly call it _involvement_ , I simply received a memo requesting the Wizengamot's backing in the firing of a Ministry employee based on the Minister's judgment," said Amelia Bones. "As I recall, the offender's name was not even mentioned until after the sacking had already taken place."

Rane's mouth dropped open at Fudge, who had turned an alarming shade of red.

"Er - of course it was a touch informal, but that's hardly the point -"

"So was her affiliation ever quantified or not?" asked the elderly witch.

"Well, certainly there should be no _need_ to quantify a half-Elf's affiliation with her own people?" said Umbridge, simpering over at the witch. "The proof is in the pudding, and the Ministry stood to benefit from such a purge -"

"Exactly, exactly," said Fudge, nodding, still bright red. "Only thing for it, really, we couldn't have -"

"So it was never proven that Roth was a spy?" said Amelia Bones. "Cornelius? An answer, if you please."

Fudge glanced at her, still red. "Well - well, no, not exactly, I suppose, got lost in the process -"

"If there was no quantification of espionage, Minister, than why bring it up at all?" said Amelia Bones scathingly. "Let us move on to relevant issues, please."

Scrimgeour straightened, no looking at her. "Of course, Madame Bones. Miss Roth, I'd like to -"

"Please stop calling me that," said Rane abruptly. "I've known you for three years, you can call me by my first name."

"Excuse me," said Scrimgeour tersely. "I'd like to remind you of the body that you stand before and the implications of your actions before you make any more needless requests. This is not a tea luncheon, this is a formal hearing before the Wizengamot and it would serve you well to remember that fact."

Rane shut her mouth, watching him silently.

" _Rane_ ," said Scrimgeour, placing an inflated emphasis on her name, "please describe the nature of your relationship with Sirius Black for the Wizengamot, if you please."

Rane said nothing, looking at him. A dense silence fell.

"Please, answer the question," said Scrimgeour.

"I'd like to know where this derives from," said Rane.

"You mean to say that you would like it stated where the accusations originated."

"Yes."

Scrimgeour glanced around. Percy continued to scribble madly in the corner.

"Would it please the court that I speak my piece?" Scrimgeour said.

There was a murmur of agreement. Scrimgeour stood from his seat, rising to his full and formidable height, and smoothed his gray-streaked hair back, glancing around him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as your Minister, I would like to put forth my most recent encounter with the accused for the Wizengamot's consideration," he said. The Wizengamot nodded their approval, and he took a step forward, placing both hands behind his back.

"Rane Gwendolyn Roth and I encountered one another at the home of a mutual acquaintance over Christmas, which I visited for irrelevant reasons -"

 _"Irrelevant?"_ said Rane loudly.

"- and naturally as coworkers it transpired that we spoke," Scrimgeour went on, ignoring her. "During our conversation, the subject of Sirius Black arose, including his conviction and imprisonment, and Rane expressed an atypical amount of anger regarding that conviction, alluding especially to the events that occurred at the Ministry of Magic in June last, which resulted in Black's death. I found her reaction to be very strange indeed."

Rane sat silent, but her hands had clenched into fists against the arms of the chair she sat in.

"And what precisely makes you think that she interacted with Sirius Black?" said a witch to his right. "Perhaps she was simply insulted by the mistaken conviction."

Scrimgeour clasped his hands behind his back, his yellowish eyes lingering on Rane. "As the former Head of the Auror Department, I have encountered countless guilty individuals over the years, and although I operate in another capacity now, that sixth sense has not diminished. It has served me well, and rarely failed me. Had I interrogated Rane further, she would have divulged her connection with the convict before long, I have no doubt."

"So a hunch," said an elderly wizard, frowning.

"Unfortunately Rufus has quite a reputation for what he's describing," said Amelia Bones. "I, for one, am inclined to side with his instinct."

"To further my theory," Scrimgeour went on, "it should be noted that both Black and Roth were present at the Department of Mysteries on the evening of Black's death. And my repeated attempts to understand why either of them should have been there at all have been met with stonewalling by both Wade Roth and Albus Dumbledore, both of whom were also there."

"Are you quite certain that she was present?" Amelia Bones asked.

"Multiple eyewitness accounts confirm that she was carried away from the premises by Dumbledore himself, yes," said Scrimgeour. "I am prepared to take their word."

"Rane, why were you at the Ministry that evening?" asked Amelia Bones.

Rane looked around, experiencing a moment of distress. She had not been prepared for this.

"Harry Potter is a close . . . er . . ." She struggled. "A friend of mine. I went to make sure he was okay."

"And Sirius Black?"

"He was Harry's Godfather," said Rane hesitantly. "I'm sure he was there for the same reason I was."

"To ensure the Potter boy was safe."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Indeed," said Amelia Bones thoughtfully. "And Black . . . prior to the evening of his death, did you know him?"

Rane started to dissemble. "Of course I knew who he was, the Auror department was pretty -"

"I asked whether _you_ knew him," Amelia Bones clarified smoothly. "You, personally."

Rane remained still and silent. She gripped the arms of the stone chair tightly. It was cold and hard beneath her fingers. She could hear the words of her father echoing in her mind, and Dumbledore's, but in truth none of them meant much; they were like a vague reverberation, a distant memory of a memory. What she felt now was the feel of Sirius's skin on hers, the reflection of her eyes in his, the feel of his mouth. It felt like a betrayal to deny him before these people.

"Yes," she said softly.

There was a murmur among the Wizengamot. Scrimgeour shifted his weight, looking victorious.

"You admit that you knew Black prior to the evening he died?" he said.

"Yes, I did," said Rane.

"Percy, please notate that," Scrimgeour called over the lower pew. Percy nodded, his glasses flashing, scribbling furiously. "And when did you meet Black first, Rane?"

"Last Summer," said Rane.

"How?"

"Friends."

"Which friends?"

"Well I wouldn't be much of a friend if I told you, would I?"

A faint rustle of laughter echoed in the chamber. Scrimgeour, his face stony, did not join in. He continued to stare at Rane.

"How did you come to meet Sirius Black?" he asked again.

"A mutual friend introduced us," said Rane, thinking of Remus.

"Where is this mutual friend now?"

"No idea."

"Where did you first encounter the convict?"

"In a bar," said Rane, improvising.

"What bar?"

"I don't remember."

"In London?"

" _Yes_ , in London!"

"Where?"

"I don't know, fuck!" Rane snapped. "East? West? Is that what you want to hear?"

"What I want to hear is a straightforward answer, _Miss Roth -_ "

"When you met Sirius Black, were you aware of the nature of his crimes?" said Amelia Bones, cutting across Scrimgeour.

Rane stared at her for a long moment, her mouth working.

"Yes," she said at last. "Yes, I was."

"You knew who he was," said Scrimgeour.

"Not right away, but yes, I did," said Rane.

"You knew he killed those people."

Rane stood abruptly. "He was exonerated of that."

"Yet you did _not_ know that when you so recklessly befriended him!" Scrimgeour shouted.

"There wasn't any murder in that man, Rufus, and if he'd had the trial he deserved under the law, he wouldn't have been put away in the _first_ place -!"

"And to what great hidden Elven ability do we owe this pristine judgment of character?" said Scrimgeour derisively. "The idiosyncrasies of your temper precede you, Rane, but this is the first time I have heard of your _clairvoyance_ -!"

"Well, I was right, wasn't I?" Rane said, low, glaring at Scrimgeour from beneath her brows.

Scrimgeour looked at her in silence for a long moment, calculating.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot," he said, turning from her, "our docket today is not the argument for or against Sirius Black's guilt, it is for the young woman before us who failed to report a known convict's location, a man who based on all available data was very dangerous to the public. For an Auror to -"

"She was not an Auror at the time of their meeting," said Amelia Bones.

"Perhaps not, but as a citizen, her responsibilities remain -!"

"Perhaps we should take into account that Rane has served the Ministry well during her time here," Amelia Bones went on coolly. "Perhaps it is best to remember that her services outweigh an oversight on her part which turned out to be exactly correct."

Scrimgeour turned to her angrily. "Black was a _convict,_ Amelia -!"

"One who was later proven to have been falsely imprisoned, yes," Amelia Bones told him staunchly.

A very thick silence fell at this pronouncement. Rane fell slowly back into her seat, her heart beating rapidly.

"I move for a motion to dismiss Rane Roth of her privileges as an Auror," said Scrimgeour. "It is clear to me that she cannot be trusted to uphold the law. I also recommend six months in Azkaban."

"Rufus, let us examine the evidence," said Amelia Bones loudly, standing. "Please."

Scrimgeour looked at her, his face warped in anger. "And how -?"

"Rane, tell me, how many dark wizards and witches have you put into Azkaban during your tenure?" Amelia Bones asked.

Rane hesitated, taken aback. "Nineteen, ma'am."

"And how long have you served on the Auror's Council?"

"Three years."

"Three years." Amelia Bones looked around her. "That's a long time for a witch not yet thirty."

Rane glanced around her too, her face contorted.

"And what of your daughter?" Scrimgeour asked her coarsely. "Is it Black's?"

"Yes," said Rane quietly. She hesitated, then raised her voiced. "She's Sirius's daughter, yeah. I loved him. That's why I was upset at the Burrow, because I loved him and he spent a lot of years suffering, and there was no justice in what happened to him, none at all. Put me in jail if you want to."

A ringing silence fell at her words. Rane stood breathing heavily before the Wizengamot, her hair hanging in her face.

"It is clear to me, young lady, that you acted upon instinct, which is something that we value in Aurors," Amelia Bones told her. "And indeed, I cannot help but feel moved by your passion for the man, which clearly was great. I am sorry for your loss."

Rane felt a lump rise in her throat at these words. She nodded, saying nothing.

"Guilty?" said Scrimgeour, raising his own hand. A handful of witches and wizards raised theirs as well, including Umbridge and the sallow wizard towards the back.

"Cleared?" said Amelia Bones, and lifted a hand. The bulk of the Wizengamot lifted theirs too. Rane fell backwards into the stone chair helplessly.

"Disgraceful," said Scrimgeour, and slammed a gavel to the stone pivot before him. "Get out of here, Roth."

Rane rose, staring around her in abject shock, then fled from the chambers.


	36. Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order of the Phoenix is summoned to Hogwarts on Dumbledore's orders

The doorway to the Great Hall swung open and Rane strode through, throwing back the hood of her cloak and making her way between the long tables. At the fore of the Hall, several figures stood close, speaking in low voices. Rane picked out Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, Nymphadora Tonks, Minerva McGonagall, Bill Weasley and Wade Roth, her father.

It was mid June, and the heat from the late evening rushed in with Rane's advent. She hadn't been to Hogwarts since the month after her hearing in January, which had been a terribly close call; even Wade, well known for his acumen, had admitted later that evening after several goblets of wine that he had not expected the ruling to be in her favor. In any case, the scare seemed to have healed the bad blood between them; after Rane had come stumbling out of the iron doorway, her face ghostly white, Wade had abandoned all pretense and swept her into his arms as if she were eleven rather than nearing thirty. Their brief falling-out had not been spoken of again, even after several bottles of wine later that evening.

Rane had expected her Auror charges to shrink after the hearing, sensing that Scrimgeour would find a certain satisfaction in slashing her responsibilities, but to her surprise it had been quite the opposite. The Aurors were fantastically busy and quite understaffed, and the most current trainees were still months away from the trials, meaning that replenishing the ranks was out of the question for some time yet. Although Rane would have loved to attribute the attention to her own skill, she knew better than that. The Minister had made it very clear over the past few months that he sanctioned Wade little, and Rane not at all; though both had been hard at work culling the ranks of the Death Eaters, Scrimgeour had hardly acknowledged their presence, let alone their work. Rane had moodily pointed this out to her father shortly after the end of March, after yet another meeting during which neither of their accomplishments had been mentioned at all.

 _He's doing it on purpose_ , she had snapped as they'd strode from the Auror office toward their respective Floo fireplaces, their cloaks wafting behind them. _I put three away just last week, would it kill him to say thanks? I mean, he_ still _won't shut up about Dawlish's one stupid arrest in February . . ._

 _Well, maybe Dawlish isn't the best basis for comparison_ , Wade had told her grimly. John Dawlish had been instructed to tail Dumbledore by the Minister, which he had undertaken with obvious relish, and had become a sort of teacher's pet as a result. _Anyway, Rufus can't exactly play favorites with us after what you did over Christmas, Rane - I mean the guy's a politician first and foremost. That's just what they do, they distance themselves from scandal. You know that._

She did. Though the Wizengamot had ruled in her favor, Rane had become a bit of a pariah amongst her peers; the news that she had known where Sirius Black was for a whole year and had not made an arrest had traveled like wildfire, and though Sirius had been absolved, the rest of the Auror office saw Rane's lack of action as a sort of debility. Scrimgeour had made no move to discourage the behavior; on the contrary, it was clear that he agreed.

 _Doesn't make it suck any less_ , she'd murmured as they stepped into the Floo, but she had cast a glance over her shoulder as she did, uneasy. A few of her colleagues were standing in a cluster nearby, speaking together and watching her, their faces unfriendly.

And that hadn't been it, either. The _Daily Prophet_ wasn't one of Rane's routine rags anymore (she had grown tired of the folly at the end of it), but Harry had wasted no time in sending her clippings of the articles that cropped up about her as the late winter turned to spring. The headlines were garish and sometimes faintly preposterous. The one that Rane remembered most clearly - enclosed in a letter from Harry that began _I knew you'd get a laugh out of this one_ \- was titled **Half-Elf Auror Married Convict Sirius Black In Secret**. Beneath this were two photos: one of Rane striding through the atrium of the Ministry, scowling at the ground and looking utterly annoyed; and another of Sirius in his iconic mug shot, glaring menacingly from beneath his brows. Rane had found herself smirking as she read the article, which described a wedding in the vestibule of some cathedral in Dublin, where "reliable eyewitnesses" saw the two saying their vows before a goblin cleric. Rane had written Harry back the same night, unable to suppress her grin, telling him that the idea of a three-foot goblin declaring her and Sirius man and wife was golden, and noted that although the photographer had gotten her left side, no one had noticed that her ring finger was markedly bare.

The Order had been just as hectic, with multiple guard duties and a new initiative of Albus's making that sent members on reconnaissance missions, and Rane had been a frequent choice for the job. As a _maethor_ , Wade spent much of his time these days away with the troops of Ylle Thalas, which had come under fire frequently over the last few months; Kingsley, Tonks, Emeline Vance, Hestia Jones, Remus and most of the rest were busy elsewhere, and Mad-Eye had been assigned to Hogsmeade. Rane, as an Auror, had taken to it quite well, and Molly had been happy to take over Idril's care when she was sent away, but it was risky and sometimes tedious work, and Albus seemingly had a new mission for her almost weekly. The Order still functioned as a corps in many ways, but their gatherings as a whole had lessened of late, and they hardly ever operated as a team.

So the owl that had arrived this evening, asking that Rane join several other Order members at Hogwarts, was quite bewildering. Rane had stood at the window of Sirius's old bedroom, reading the parchment twice over quickly as the owl stood patiently on the sill:

_Rane,_

_I must request your presence for several hours at Hogwarts this evening along with several other members. I am being called away suddenly. Please respond with haste._

_Albus_

Albus's handwriting, usually neat and fluid, seemed jagged and hastily scrawled; she had never received a letter from him that had not seemed thought out and orderly. Rane felt more than curious; she felt a thready, tingling disquiet wheedling through her at the sight of this missive. She wished harshly that she wasn't alone at Headquarters. Idril was fast asleep in her cot, wasted on yams and porridge, so there was that; Rane hoped that Molly wouldn't mind a late request for a babysitter.

She flipped the parchment over, flattening it against the wall, and pulling a quill from her jeans pocket responded in kind with five quick words, her tongue stuck between her teeth:

_See you in a few._

_-Rane_

She dropped the quill, rolled the parchment up quickly and attached it to the owl, who had stuck his leg out obediently. He was gone in a flurry of feathers in half a moment, diminishing against the darkening sky.

"Alright," Rane muttered, and turning strode to Idril's crib. She lifted her gently, and Idril's sooty eyelashes fluttered, looking up at her mother in bewilderment.

"'Ama?" she said quietly, her brow knit.

"Sorry, baby girl," Rane told her, hoisting her to her hip gently. "Mama's gotta head to work for a little bit."

Idril wrinkled her nose. "Rurk. 'Ama rurk."

"That's correct, little woman," Rane told her, striding off. "You're gonna go visit the Burrow for a piece."

Idril's face, still bleary, brightened at this. "'Olly. See 'Olly."

"Yep, then you can go back to sleep, my little."

"'Leep," Idril agreed, and yawned hugely, placing her head on Rane's shoulder.

Rane snatched her wand off the bedside table as she passed, shutting the door behind her with a clack.

"Got here as soon as I could," she said agitatedly as she drew near to the cluster at the head of the Great Hall, pulling off her cloak. "I had to drop off Idril at the Burrow or I'd have been here sooner . . ."

"Never mind," said Wade, shaking his head. "Albus, would you mind reiterating to Rane what you just told us?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "I will be taking my leave of the castle for what I hope will be a short time tonight. I asked you all here to guard Hogwarts while I am away."

"Where are you going?" Rane asked.

"On a journey of vital importance," Albus told her, peering at her over his half-moon specs. "I will brief the Order of the Phoenix on the exhaustive details should I return victorious, but until that time, you must have faith that I am acting out of necessity."

Rane shifted her weight impatiently. "Albus, come on . . ."

"Have faith, Rane," Albus repeated, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I implore you."

Rane sighed. "What are we on the lookout for?"

"A fair question, Headmaster," Minerva agreed, looking at Albus.

"It is my hope that my suspicions come to nothing," Albus said, clasping his hands at his back. "However, fortune favors the prepared."

There was a loud, echoing bang as the door at the fore of the Great Hall closed, and the cluster turned toward the sound. Harry Potter was running toward them, a shimmering cloak crumpled beneath one arm and his wand held white-knuckled in the other.

"What are you doing here, kid?" Rane asked him in surprise, pulling him to her and wrapping him into a tight hug.

Harry stepped back from her, looking uncertainly at Albus. "Er - well -"

"Harry will be accompanying me tonight," Albus said, nodding to him. "Thank you for your haste, Harry."

"Yes, Professor."

"What?" Rane snapped, looking between them. "You're taking _Harry_?"

"That is correct."

"Is it dangerous, where you're going?" Rane asked Albus roughly. "Is that a good idea? I mean he's just a kid -"

"I will look after Harry," Albus told her.

"Rane, Albus knows what he's doing," said Remus gently, touching her arm.

Rane scoffed, looking from Harry to Albus, feeling a touch of alarm.

"It'll be alright," Harry told her. "Dumbledore'll be there."

"We cannot linger," Albus said, nodding to Harry. "You have your orders. Harry and I will see you all very soon."

Rane seized Harry's hand before he could start off.

"Harry Potter, you promise me that you'll come back in one piece."

"Rane -"

"Do it."

" _Alright_ , blimey, I promise."

Rane grasped his face in both her hands, looking at him seriously. "If you get hurt I'll kill you myself."

"Alright, _alright_!" Harry said, grinning. "I'll be fine, don't worry."

Dumbledore was waiting for these pleasantries to ebb patiently enough, but Rane could sense his haste.

"We'll keep the castle safe," said Tonks.

"Hurry back, Headmaster," said Minerva. She looked pale and worried.

"We shall do our best," said Dumbledore briskly. "Harry, I wish you to wear your Cloak, please."

Harry pulled the cloak over him and to Rane's surprise he vanished at once. Sirius had told her about his Invisibility Cloak, but she had never seen it in person before.

"Farewell," said Dumbledore, looking at all of them, and with this he turned and strode off. Harry's footsteps could be heard padding after him.

"Does _anyone_ know where they're going?" Rane asked, looking around. "Minerva, did he say anything to you?"

Minerva sighed. "He refuses to tell me."

"He's been doing this for a while," Bill added. "Betrays nary a word."

"I think it is safe to assume he knows what he's doing," said Remus. "It is Dumbledore, after all."

"But why take Harry? He's -"

"Let Dumbledore worry with his own business," said Wade, echoing Remus. "We have a job to do. That's all we need to worry about. Harry will be fine," he added as Rane opened her mouth. "Dumbledore will keep him safe wherever they're going, I'm sure."

"None of this feels very safe," Rane said quietly.

"It sure doesn't," said Wade, nodding. "I think we all better be on our toes tonight. Split up and patrol, what do y'all think?"

"Tonks and I will take the east wing," said Remus. "Wade, you and Rane head north. Minerva and Bill go South."

"Excellent," said Bill.

"Wands out, do you reckon?" said Tonks edgily.

"Couldn't hurt," said Rane, pulling her own out. The rest of them followed suit.

"Be careful," said Remus, looking around at them all.

They parted ways, striding off in opposite directions, their wands gripped at their sides.

"This is all wrong."

Wade glanced sidelong at his daughter. She was walking beside him down the stone-flagged corridor at a not-quite-leisurely pace, her wand grasped loosely in one hand. Her profile was smooth and illuminated by the cool evening light streaming through the windows, the rays thick with particles of dust floating lazily. The hallways were punctuated here and there with students, but evening was coming quickly.

"Say again?"

"Said this doesn't feel right." Rane repeated, very low.

"What makes you say that?" Wade asked, watching her closely.

Rane shook her head, her brow furrowed.

"That letter Albus sent, for one," she said. "His handwriting was -"  
"Sloppy, yeah." Wade was nodding. "I noticed that too."

"And then we get here and he's about to take off to God only knows where with Harry, of all things," Rane went on uneasily. "Won't say where. Calls all of us up at a moment's notice to watch the castle. And he looks . . . _Sick_."

She had not voiced this until now, but it was something she'd noticed for most of the Spring. Albus had lost weight, and his eyes had taken on a strange, hollow look. And of course there was his left hand, which was as black and shriveled as if he had held it over an open flame. He had never explained that to anyone as far as Rane knew, and no one had asked.

"Albus is an old man, baby," Wade had said, shrugging. "He's been at this for a long while. Could just be plain old age."

"It's not just him, it's _all_ this," Rane said, gesturing around her vaguely. "This whole thing . . . The situation, the castle . . . _All_ of it feels wrong. It feels . . . _threatening_."

Wade reached out and put a hand between her shoulder blades, feeling the tenseness there.

"I know it does," he said quietly, his voice barely louder than their footsteps. He did, indeed. He had been feeling a growing sense of unease for almost two days now, as a matter of fact - a black, evil sensation that began worming itself through his mind like a parasite. Wade was familiar with this feeling, and had not wasted time denying it.

 _You know it for what it is_ , Iliwynn had told him gently when he came to her for counsel. _You know the name of it, such that it is. Nor do you need me to say it for you._

Umbarae, Wade had said. _You think it's_ umbarae _I'm feeling_.

Iliwynn had simply looked at him, saying nothing. _Umbarae_ meant "shadow of fate" in Sindarin - a dark, portentous feeling that stole over Elves before a cataclysmic event. It wasn't an exact science, of course, and many didn't believe in it at all; however, Wade had felt it before, and it had not failed him yet.

 _You must trust your instinct_ , Iliwynn had told him softly, placing one hand over his. He had looked up at her, his mouth turned down. _It will not guide you astray if you but listen_.

_What is it?_

_I see it not._

_Do you feel it too, Iliwynn?_

Iliwynn had watched Wade for a moment, then nodded somberly.

 _I have felt it, yes, but it is veiled from me,_ she had said _. Like a storm it approaches. I feel that time is quickly failing us, and that we will learn what this_ umbarae _heralds before much longer has passed._

 _Just not Rane,_ Wade had said, and very nearly slapped a hand over his mouth. He had not meant to utter such a horrible thing aloud.

 _I know not, Undunai,_ Iliwynn had told him, low. She had squeezed his hand lightly, leaning forward. _We must be strong for our kinsmen_.

"You feel it too?"

Rane was looking at her father. Wade glanced at her.

"Course I do. Lord knows you didn't get it from your mom's side of the family."

"Do you know what it is?" Rane asked him in earnest.

"Well that's a silly question," Wade replied.

Rane sighed, restless, looking around her. The students strolling past them were shooting curious looks at Wade and Rane, who were both clad in Muggle attire and carrying swords at their belts. To Rane they looked impossibly young.

"All these kids," she said softly, troubled.

"Might not happen here, whatever it is."

"I think it might."

Wade looked at her sharply. "Why you say?"

Rane shrugged, looking uneasy.

"Sometimes I think you might be a little sharper than me," said Wade, and sighed. "I'm getting old."

"Who are _they_?" a student - Second Year by the looks of her - muttered to her companion as they walked by.

"Get to your dormitories," said Rane sternly. "With a quickness. Both of you."

The pair of students looked at one another in alarm and hurried on, clutching their books against them tightly.

"Be nice, Rane."

"I am! I just want them all to be safe in case . . . In case."

"It's going to be fine, Hogwarts is a goddamned fortress," Wade said, though he didn't sound completely convinced. "Surrounded by Aurors and Dumbledore's charms, no less . . ."

Rane said nothing. They strode on in tense silence, their boot heels echoing in the corridor as the night grew deeper around them.

HOURS passed. The castle was quiet, save the not-quite-concealed patter of surreptitious footsteps of students out of bed past hours and the occasional distant, faint, self-satisfied cackled of Peeves the Poltergeist, who Rane remembered well from her Hogwarts days. She was glad enough for the space between them; the last thing she wanted on this tense evening was Peeves pelting her with erasers and swooping about their heads.

"He'll stay away if he's smart," Wade murmured, clearly following her thoughts.

"Did you know he hates hearing Elvish?" Rane replied, smirking.

"That right?"

"Yeah, I used it to get him out of the girl's dorm a few times," Rane told him. "Came in handy when he -"

"Hush a sec," Wade said, stopping abruptly. Rane froze.

The sound of distant footsteps above them came to her at once, faint but hurried; she glanced sidelong at her father, who was perfectly still, his eyes with hers, listening.

"Students?"

"Too heavy," said Wade at once.

"Sounds like a lot of them."

Wade's blue eyes flicked between his daughter's hazel ones. Above them, the distant thuds continued faintly.

"Feels janky," said Rane.

"Sure does," Wade agreed grimly, pulling his wand. "Come on."

He set off at a brisk run. Rane hesitated, her eyes on his back, worried, and then she set off after him, her long hair trailing out behind her.

THEY had not even reached the next floor when, suddenly, a cry echoed out somewhere nearby, high and keening. It cut through the still corridor like glass. Rane stopped in her tracks, spinning around.

"Did you hear -?"

" _Hush_!" Wade pointed his wand ahead of him, his other hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Came from up ahead. Come on."

They reached the top of the stairway and to Rane's surprise, Hermione Granger stood there, accompanied by a girl with pale blond hair and round eyes that Rane recognized immediately. She had been with the rest of the DA during the expedition to the Department of Mysteries all those months ago.

Hermione spotted her, her eyes wide. " _Rane_?"

In the space of a moment Hermione had closed the distance between them and thrown her arms around Rane, whimpering.

"What in the hell are you doing out here?" Rane asked her, pulling her back by her shoulders. Hermione's eyes were bright, her forehead sparkling with perspiration. "You should be in your dorm, you should _both_ be there -!"

"Hello," said the other girl, looking from Wade to Rane. "You're Elves, aren't you?"

"I am," said Wade. "Not her."

"Who's hurt?" Rane interrupted. "We heard -"

" _You're_ Rane Roth," the blonde girl said. Her voice sounded oddly flat, and she marked Rane's face with her round, moon-like eyes with mild interest. "My father writes about you, sometimes."

Rane stared at her in complete bafflement. "He - your - _what_?"

"Well, you see, it's quite unusual for a half-Elf to be an Auror," Luna explained to her. "Naturally readers want to know -"

"Never mind that, Luna!" Hermione snapped at her, looking stricken. "It was Professor Flitwick . . . he went into Professor Snape's office, and we heard . . . Well, Professor Snape said he'd fainted, and -!"

Wade pushed past her abruptly, his sword in his hand. He shoved open the door to the office.

"Severus!" he shouted.

"He's gone, sir," Hermione told him, her eyes on his sword. "He left a few minutes ago, we didn't -"

"God _dammit_!" said Wade sharply, sheathing his sword with a clang. It was loud in the corridor, and both Luna and Hermione flinched. "Which way?"

Luna pointed north. "Back in that direction," she said. "Towards the Headmaster's office."

"Well, he'll be disappointed, Dumbledore's out," Wade muttered, but he sounded uneasy.

"What did he say before he left?" Rane demanded.

"He - he said Professor Flitwick had fainted, and that we should wait here -!"

Rane turned from her and kicked the door to Snape's office hard enough to rock it back on its hinges with a bang,

"FUCK!" she shouted.

"Listen to me," said Wade, addressing the two girls now. Luna and Hermione looked up at him, both wide-eyed. "If you see Severus again, neither of you are to speak to him, don't even let him see you. Stay _out of sight_ of him. Understand?"

"But sir -"

" _Understand?_!"

"Y-yes sir," Luna said quietly.

"What are you guys doing here?" Rane asked.

"Harry told us to keep watch," said Luna. "We're part of Dumbledore's Army, you see."

"He said he was leaving the castle with Dumbledore," Hermione agreed. "We were posted here, and Professor Flitwick turned up shouting about Death Eaters in the castle -"

" _What_?!" Wade and Rane both shouted.

"Professor Snape said to stay here and keep an eye on Professor Flitwick, and oh Rane, we were so _stupid_ -!"

"If he really fainted I'll eat my hat," said Wade shortly. "That limey fuck hexed him right out cold, that's what I think. Rane, we need to go. If there are really Death Eaters in the castle -"

"Did you guys see any Death Eaters?" Rane asked.

"No!" said Luna.

"But we heard . . ." Hermione looked up, and they all fell silent. The sound of many rushing footsteps was audible again. The sconces on the wall rattled slightly.

"Oh, my god," Rane breathed, her eyes upwards. "They got inside."

Wade pocketed his wand, turning. "Come on."

Rane looked at Luna and Hermione, who were staring at the ceiling. "You guys stay out of sight like we said," she said, and squeezed Hermione's shoulder. "Stay safe and stay quiet. We'll be back."

She turned and set off at a run after her father, leaving the two girls staring after them.


	37. Albus Dumbledore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death Eaters infiltrate Hogwarts

"How in the _hell_ did they get inside?" Wade panted at Rane's side.

They were running full-tilt down the corridor, heading towards the courtyard now. The halls seemed abandoned for the most part, but Rane had still spotted a handful of students and had wasted no time in commanding them to head to their dorms without delay. The sounds of footsteps had grown louder, and were now punctuated by new sounds; shouting, crashes and - most alarmingly of all - the unmistakable, glasslike ring of spells being deflected. Whatever was happening, it was happening just South of the Astronomy Tower. They ran into the courtyard, which was empty, the early Spring air warm.

"I have no idea," Rane replied, her hair flying behind her. "Sounded like they were coming from _up_ , didn't it, almost like -"

"OY!" a voice bellowed loudly from their right, and both Wade and Rane skidded to a halt, wands shooting up at sudden noise. Two red jets of light were sailing towards them over the darkening lawn, and Wade's wand flew into a wide arc, deflecting both of them. Tonks and Remus both sprawled onto the grass, and the spells hit the stone wall behind them with a loud clang, leaving two long black streaks.

"GOD _DAMMIT!_ " Rane shouted at them, bending over, her hands on her knees. "WHAT THE _FUCK_ , YOU GUYS!"

"Wotcher, Rane," Tonks gasped, scrambling to her feet. "Thought you lot were Death Eaters, sorry."

"Did you hear it, too?" Remus asked, clambering up. "The -?"

"People running, yeah," Wade agreed, out of breath.

"A girl heading back to the Ravenclaw dormitory told us she'd seen a black smoke cloud on this floor," Remus said. "And voices she didn't recognize."

" _Adult_ voices," Tonks added.

"What about you guys, did you see anything?" asked Rane.

"Just students," said Tonks, brushing herself off. "And Professor Flitwick for a moment, running back that way down the corridor, told us to head to the Tower while he was -"

"Flitwick's down," said Wade, pocketing his wand. "Snape cursed him and hoofed it for Dumbledore's office."

Remus gaped at him. " _What_?"

"Is he hurt?" said Tonks sharply.

"Flitwick? No," said Wade, shaking his head. "Just Stunned. He's back there in Snape's office. I'd have stopped off long enough to Rennervate him but I thought we might catch up to Snape before he got too far, see what he had to say for himself."

"We haven't seen him, though," Rane added as Tonks opened her mouth to inquire. "He could be halfway to the Sunset Strip by now, for all we know -"

"You're quite sure it was Severus?" Remus asked harshly.

"Positive," Rane said, low.

Remus looked completely taken aback. For a moment he simply stared at Wade, his mouth slightly open.

"There's an explanation," he said after a beat.

"You bet your ass there's one," Wade agreed grimly. "Mind you, it might not be the one you want to hear . . ."

"Remus, he lied to a couple of students from the DA about what happened," said Rane. "There's _no_ good reason to do that, even if Flitwick had attacked him or something, it doesn't make any sense, _anyone_ would have made sure the students were safe before splitting -"

"It is possible he was Imperiused."

"Oh come on, Moony," Wade said brusquely. "This is _Severus_ we're talking about, I don't think Merlin himself could Imperius that guy." He shook his head, staring at Remus. "I'm telling you, this is a straw in the wind, and not the first one. We got a Hogwarts professor Stunned half-stupid back yonder and a former Death Eater burning rubber, what more proof do you need?"

"Wade, _please_ ," Remus's tone had taken on the low, somewhat goaded tones of someone trying to talk sense within hysteria. "Dumbledore _trusts_ Severus -"

"Dumbledore's been too chill about that guy for years," Wade said shortly.

Remus sighed, looking impatient. "Never mind that right now, have either of you seen anyone else from the Order?"

"Just y'all," said Wade. "Minerva and Bill headed that direction, maybe they -"

"Oh, _no_ ," Rane gasped suddenly, her eyes on the dark sky above them.

Tonks, Remus and Wade all followed her gaze. High above the castle, floating malignly in the spring breeze, was a huge, unmistakable vision, suspended between the wispy clouds that drifted among the highest crests of Hogwarts. The light from the rising stars reflected off the smoky countenance, setting the skull's sneering face into sharp resolution.

"It's the Dark Mark," Tonks breathed, grasping Remus's arm.

"Come on!" said Wade, sweeping off. The other three followed him, running across the dark lawn, wands drawn.

The first ones they met weren't Bill and Minerva, but Ginny Weasley and a boy Rane recognized as Neville Longbottom, the same one that had appeared at the Ministry of Magic the night Sirius had died. Again, upon seeing him she was stricken by the prominent resemblance he bore to his parents, who had been frequent dinner guests in Rane's childhood. Wade seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"Ginny!" he said, and then, bizarrely, "You _gotta_ be Frank Longbottom's son -"

"Not the time," Rane muttered.

Neville didn't even acknowledge this. He was speaking in hasty, panicked gasps, his face pale and sweaty. "Sir, please, there are Death Eaters in the castle, loads of them."

"Are you guys okay?" Rane asked, placing a quick hand on Ginny's cheek. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"Not us, no," Ginny replied, "but Rane, we stepped over bodies in the hallway, it was just so dark -"

"Where?" Remus asked her quickly.

Neville and Ginny both pointed toward back towards the Astronomy Tower. The shouting was getting louder now.

"Alright, you both get back to your Common Room," Wade said, starting around them, but Neville stepped into his path, his face hard.

"Sir, our friends are out there," he said, his voice small but stern.

"We can fight," Ginny said, raising her wand. "We've done it before, we know how."

Rane looked at her father, who was stock-still, staring at Neville with clear bewilderment. He wasn't used to being rebuffed so brashly, especially by a boy nearly half Rane's age. Neville was staring back at him quite unflinchingly, and Rane found herself rather liking him for it. Not every teenager would stand up to an Elf, especially one as compelling as her father.

"Absolutely not," Wade said at last, drawing himself up to his full height. "You guys can't be more than Sixth Years, come on, now -"

"They're not going to listen to you," Rane told him dryly.

"No, we aren't!" Ginny said firmly.

"Right," Neville agreed. Then, in a slightly smaller voice, "sorry, sir."

Wade looked between them for another moment, then sighed. "Fine, just stay behind us. I don't want to see either of you eat it."

"If either of you sees a Death Eater, _hide_ ," Remus told them sternly. "Don't be stupid."

"Shielding and Disarming," Rane agreed severely, knowing full well that neither of them would listen to her, either. "And that's it. Got it?"

Ginny and Neville nodded. She tipped them a wink and then jogged off after her three companions.

THE noise grew as they strode on, and suddenly exploded as the four of them rounded a corner entered into the foyer before the stairway to the tower. All four of them skidded to a halt, taken aback by the vision of chaos before them.

Bill and Minerva were immediately in evidence, both of them sending spells hither and yon wildly, but they were not alone. There were Death Eaters - far more than Rane had supposed by far. She did a quick head count right away, her lips moving silently; there were at least twenty of them on a glance, most of them focused markedly on the spiral stairway that lead to the astronomy tower. The bangs of curses flying hither and yon were shrill and piercing, the bright flashes glimmering off the Death Eaters' masks. Ginny had been right - Rane spotted the bodies right away. She didn't waste time trying to identify them - some of the Death Eaters had turned their glittering, masked faces towards these new adversaries already - but she spotted the ominous glimmer of blood on the stone, unmistakable in the wan light.

Wade, Remus and Tonks were engaged at once, shooting spells. Rane hesitated a moment longer, her eyes on the spiral staircase, where a familiar, lean-bodied form was racing down, taking them two steps at a time, one hand trailing on the railing and the other grasping a wand at the ready.

"HARRY!" she shouted, and regretted it immediately. Several masked faces turned towards her, then followed her gaze. Harry had skidded to a halt on the stairway, looking at her in surprise. Two Death Eaters began to stride towards him, wands rising -

"IMPEDIMENTA!" Rane bellowed.

The spell hit one of the Death Eaters ascending the stair, and his body fell limply over the railing. The remaining Death Eater fired a curse at Harry, too fast for Rane to react, but she saw Harry's wand fly in a wide arc, deflecting it flawlessly; a moment later Harry grasped the railing in both hands and planted both feet on the Death Eater's chest, sending him sailing down to meet his companion. Rane felt a surge of pride in her chest so fierce it nearly undid her as she raced forward towards the fray.

Harry's feet had hardly hit the bottom of the stairway before a massive figure had collided with him, tackling him to the ground. Rane heard his surprised _woof_ as all the air was knocked out of him. Remus, who was nearby dueling a squat, flailing woman Rane recognized as Alecto Carrow, shouted in alarm, his face long with terror.

"RANE!" he yelled. "THAT'S GREYBACK! GET HIM AWAY FROM HARRY!"

Harry was scrambling for footing beneath the Death Eater, who was grasping at his clothes, snarling. Now that Rane was able to get a good look at him, she recognized him at once as Fenrir Greyback, looking as roughly hewn and fiendish as ever. He was snapping his blood-smeared jaws at Harry like an animal, cackling. Rane's stomach gave a terrified lurch.

She booked it towards them and putting her shoulder forward slammed her full weight into Greyback as hard as she could. He barked in angry surprise, rolling off to one side.

Rane yanked Harry to his feet by the scruff of his shirt, seizing his face and inspecting him, panting. "Did he get you?"

"Rane, _Dumbledore's_ -!"

"Harry, answer me, did he _bite_ you?" Rane interrupted Harry roughly. He shook her off, staring at her desperately.

" _No_ , Rane, listen, it's _Dumbledore_ , he's -!"

He was cut off as Greyback slammed full-force into him, shoving him to the ground again. Harry flew like a rag, his arms flailing. Greyback turned to Rane slowly, his yellow teeth bared, leering.

"Like to fight like a Muggle, do you, girl?" he snarled at her. "We'll see how pretty you are after I tear out your -!"

Rane ducked his grasp and elbowed him hard in the neck. He gave a strangled yawp and staggered against the wall, clutching at his throat. Rane advanced on him, straightening, and pulled her sword in one swift motion, pointing it at Greyback, who eyed its homicidal edge with fear. The rage she felt was dizzying - Harry, not yet seventeen, a hair's breadth from a werewolf's bite . . . !

"I'll field-dress your furry ass if you touch that kid again," she snarled at him.

Fenrir glared up at her, eyes bugging, clutching his throat and croaking feebly. Rane turned from him, looking for Harry, and caught sight of him pounding off towards the entrance to the Hogwarts grounds. She stared after him, puzzled, then sheathed her sword and ran after him.

RANE was not the only one leaving the war zone; there were several Death Eaters close ahead, Amycus Carrow among them. Rane could see Harry's lean form, his trainers skidding on a floor that was slick with blood.

"HARRY, STOP!" she shouted, but he ignored her. With a wave of his wand the double doors leading to the grounds banged open and he fled through them, still full-tilt. As Rane's feet hit the grass, her eyes fell on Hagrid's hut ahead of them, feeling a cold jolt of horror in her belly; it was engulfed in flames, casting the dark grounds into sharp resolution.

Several of the Death Eaters that Rane had caught sight of ahead of Harry came into sight as she breasted the hill that lead to the lake, and among them Rane caught sight of Severus Snape, unmistakable in his billowing black robes, alongside a blond-haired boy that Rane thought must be no older than Harry. Harry himself was still in fourth gear, and Rane felt a flash of real fear as she finally realized what he was doing. He was going after Snape, and Snape would make quick work of him if he caught up . . .

She raised her wand, meaning to trip him up, but before she could open her mouth a harsh voice behind her shouted, "CRUCIO!"

Rane's wand fell from her relaxing hands as her feet failed her mid-run, and then she was airborne. She hit the grass gracelessly with all of her weight, feeling the damp spring earth giving beneath her skin, and when she fell on the knocked-askew hilt of her sword a snap as loud as a gunshot rang out as one of her ribs cracked. It was peanuts to what she was feeling now, however; the rivulets of pain running through her nerves, as bright and dazzling as lightening, wiped out all else. She could hear herself screaming hoarsely, her long hair hanging in strings before her face. Her grandfather's kukri, knocked loose in the impact, had rolled some ways from Rane's face, glittering in the starlight.

"It's that half-Elf lass, Amycus, the one from the Ministry!" a voice cackled nearby, sounding delighted. Rane opened her eyes as she writhed in the dirt and caught sight of Alecto Carrow, her moon-shaped face transported, her wand aimed at Rane. "Ooh, but the Dark Lord would be thrilled if we -!"

"Come on, Alecto, leave her be," Amycys Carrow replied curtly, striding past Rane and glancing down at her with disgust. "Work's done, it's time to go."

Alecto sighed raucously, clearly disappointed, then lifted her wand. The agony abated at once. Rane rolled to her feet, rising clumsily, going for her sword, but Alecto trained her wand on Rane at once. Rane froze reluctantly; her wand and kukri were still on the ground out of reach.

"They say Elves can't die, but I'll put it to the test if you move a muscle, pretty," Alecto said coldly as she jogged past Rane, who watched her pass with vitriol, her legs trembling beneath her. Alecto walked backwards for a bit longer, grinning maliciously at Rane, then finally turned away and sprinted for Harry and Snape. Rane bent, snatched up her wand and her dagger and then pounded off after them.

HARRY was past Hagrid's hut now, still trailing behind the now-diminished forms of Snape and the blonde boy, and Rane could see right away why he'd left the fiery scene behind him. Hagrid himself, his immense form outlined against the flames, was clearly in evidence, circling his house but obviously unharmed. The rest of the Death Eaters were fleeing towards the outskirts, and now Rane saw a terrifying sight . . . Snape had halted, allowing his companion to breast him, and was turning to face Harry. Rane redoubled her speed, feeling her breath shearing between her teeth, her wand gripped with panicky tightness in one hand.

Rane saw Harry aim a spell at Snape, though his bellow was lost in the cricket-studded evening air. Snape deflected it with ease and advanced on Harry. Rane was nearing them now, passing the fire-riddled hut where the howls of a dog trapped inside could be heard now -

"STUPE -" Harry began to shout again, but Snape's wand flicked again almost lazily and the spell flew off into the night.

"IMPEDIM -"

Flick. The spell soared away into the night.

"CRUC -"

"No Unforgivable Curses for you, Potter!" Snape bellowed at Harry. "You haven't the nerve or the ability -!"

"INCAR -!" Harry yelled, but this was repelled easily as well, and his wand flew from his grasp into the darkness as Snape disarmed him.

"INCARCEROUS!" Rane finished for him, her wand outstretched, and a mighty bellow of flames erupted from its tip, flaring at Snape in a wave. Snape, catching sight of her at last, raised his wand to waylay the fire just in time, but his expression of surprise was clear in the flash of orange light.

"Rane, do not be a fool," Snape called to her, but Rane ignored him. Walking past Harry, she whipped her wand about again, sending another blaze of fire at him. He deflected this easily, glaring at her. Rane's wand flew again, and another wall of fire advanced on Snape, but this, too, was cast aside.

"KILL US, THEN!" Harry shouted suddenly behind Rane. "KILL US LIKE YOU DID HIM, YOU COWARD!"

Snape's face suddenly morphed into something almost inhuman. Rane recoiled at his expression, her wand faltering.

"DON'T," he shouted, "CALL ME COWARD."

His wand flew through the air, and Rane prepared to loose a counter curse, but suddenly the light was interrupted as a massive, feathered form appeared before them, talons whipping at Snape, who staggered back in shock. Buckbeak had appeared out of seemingly nowhere and stood now between Rane and Harry and Severus Snape, his wings outstretched. Snape turned and fled into the darkness, Buckbeak close on his heel. Rane turned to Harry, who was writhing on the ground, his face contorted.

"Harry, you're okay, come here," Rane said, grasping at his elbows, but Harry shook her off roughly. He was feeling around clumsily in the grass for his wand, throwing twigs out of the way impatiently.

Rane took an awkward step back, clutching her throbbing side and looking at him in bewilderment. "Harry, what are you -?"

A loud crash rang out as a segment of Hagrid's hut fell beneath the raginig fire, and Rane turned, remembering Hagrid with a jolt. She needn't have worried, however; he was striding out of his burning house, a massive boarhound draped over his shoulders, black with soot but unharmed. The dog was staring around in a daze, tongue lolling, tail wagging feebly.

"Is Hagrid all right?" Harry asked, looking dazedly toward the hut.

Rane looked down at him, then bending hoisted him up. He shoved at her feebly, the heels of his hands pressing against her side, and Rane's broken rib screamed at this affront, but she ignored it, gritting her teeth against Harry's weight. With an effort she slung his arm around her shoulder, holding him tightly against her.

"Hagrid's fine, Harry," she said tightly. "Come on, we're going to the castle, I'm busted up and so are you -"

"Snape," Harry gasped at her. "Rane, he killed Dumbledore."

Rane stopped in her tracks, looking down at him. An icy terror rose in her gorge like a sickness at these words.

"What?"

"He killed Dumbledore," said Harry. He hung his head, swiping at his brow restlessly. "Rane, he killed Dumbledore."


	38. The Lightning-Struck Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane and Harry come to terms with the evening's work

Rane didn't answer Harry right away. For a few moments they simply looked at one another: Rane, one arm wrapped around Harry's waist, her face dirt-smeared, her thick brows contracted above her eyes, a trickle of blood drying on her forehead; and Harry, panting roughly, damp and reeking of seawater and sweat, his wet hair hanging in his eyes and one lens of his glasses cracked down the center.

"Harry, that's . . . that's _crazy_ ," Rane said after a moment. She was badly troubled by the frailty of her voice; it sounded almost translucent, seemingly without any substance or conviction at all. "Snape couldn't . . . he wouldn't . . ."

Harry said nothing. He continued to breath harshly, his brows knitted.

"Let's help Hagrid put out his house," Rane said quietly, pulling away from him. "Come on, Harry, he's not supposed to use magic . . ."

Rane turned from him toward Hagrid's hut. Hagrid was already pointing an ancient-looking pink umbrella toward the billowing flames, from the tip of which a fountain of water was spouting. Rane strode toward him, pulling her own wand as she went, limping slightly. Every other step sent a bolt of agony through her.

"Alrigh', Rane?" Hagrid asked her as she drew near to him. His cheeks were singed, bits of his bushy beard were missing and a deep cut beneath one of his eyes was oozing blood, but he seemed otherwise okay. "You hurt?"

"Just cracked a rib," Rane replied, aiming her wand at his hut. " _Aguamenti_!"

"Are you alright, Hagrid?" Harry asked as he joined Rane's side, aiming his own fountain at the fire.

"'Course I am," Hagrid replied gruffly. "Takes more'n that ter finish me . . ."

The three of them stood side by side, jetting water on the smoldering hut until the last of it was extinguished. Rane surveyed the wreckage grimly.

"It's not too bad," she remarked, feeling slightly ill. "I'll help you set it to rights tomorrow if you want. Tonks could probably help."

"Wha' happened?" Hagrid asked, turning to them. "I jus' saw them Death Eaters runnin down from the castle, but what the ruddy hell was Snape doin' with 'em? Where's he gone? Was he chasin' them?"

"Hagrid, he . . ."

Harry cleared his throat, sounding hoarse, but Rane grasped his shoulder before he could continue, pulling him back to her aching side.

"We don't know yet," Rane told Hagrid, her voice still sounding weak to her own ears. "We came for patrol and there were Death Eaters in the castle, dunno how . . ."

"Hagrid, Dumbledore -" Harry began again.

"We need to get to the castle," Rane said. "Harry's soaked, and we need to check on everyone else to make sure they -"

"Hagrid, Dumbledore's dead," Harry interrupted her, his voice low. "Snape killed him…"

Hagrid looked at Harry with clear shock, his face utterly blank.

"Don' say that," said Hagrid roughly. "Snape kill Dumbledore — don' be stupid, Harry. Wha's made yeh say tha'?"

"I saw it happen."

"Yeh couldn' have."

"I _saw_ it, Hagrid."

"Okay, look, we're going up to to the castle!" Rane said, rather more sharply than she had intended. She could feel her heart beating far too hard, and she didn't care for the cold, hollow sensation of ominous foreboding that had settled in her belly. It was far too similar to the way she'd felt as Wade and Remus had explained to her that Sirius had died. Regardless of how insane Harry's proclamation was, Rane found herself wanting badly to see Dumbledore for herself; she wanted his counsel, wanted his reassurance, but most of all she wanted to see him standing before her, to see his solidarity and good health. She would never have admitted to Harry how badly his words had frightened her, not in a hundred years; indeed, she wouldn't even admit it to herself.

"Both of you guys, come on," she said gruffly, and turning limped toward the castle, her sword clanking against her hip with her mismatched cadence. Harry glanced at Hagrid, then walked after her, Hagrid in tow.

They strode up the grounds, Rane walking laboriously, clutching at her side and breathing in quick gasps. Every expansion of her lungs seemed to bring her a fresh lance of agony, shooting from the base of her neck to the top of her hipbone. She was determined not to show it, regardless; her face was set grimly as she walked on. Harry strode up regardless, putting an arm around her good side, and she leaned on him gratefully enough. She could feel him shaking violently, as if from cold. The only sound was the whisper of their feet on the dewy grass and Rane's rough, cautious breathing.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked her. His voice was languid, almost lethargic. He sounded utterly exhausted, hardly concerned with the question he was asking. Rane glanced sidelong at him, her brow furrowed, feeling a flash of anger that she couldn't explain.

"Yeah, no, I'm fucking fantastic," she muttered coarsely.

Harry looked at her a moment longer, his face long, then turned away. Rane glanced at him, feeling a cramp of guilt.

"I'm sorry," she said, and meant it. "It's my rib, it's broken, I think."

"How?"

"Cruciatus curse. I landed in the dirt with my face." Rane ran a finger down one cheek, displaying the mud there to him. "Not my proudest moment."

"I can fix it for you," Harry told her, glancing up at her hopefully. Rane looked back down at him and felt a sour swoop in her stomach; here she was, furiously angry at him for no good reason, and he was just a kid. Just a teenager. It was written all over his face. Regardless of what had happened, he was trying to cope with it, same as her.

She clutched him to her, ignoring the groan of agony that split her torso as she did so, and placed a kiss on the crown of his saltwater-smelling head.

"Shut up, Harry," she said softly, striding on. "Just shut up."

MANY of the Hogwarts windows were lit now, some of them flashing with the shadows of moving bodies. There was a cluster of pajama-wearing students gathering on the grounds beneath the astronomy tower, their footsteps making strange dark rivets in the dew-studded grass. They were gathering, some of them crying out in horror.

Rane stopped walking, Harry at her side, Hagrid at their heel. She could feel a horrid, cold sensation creeping up from her stomach, overtaking her. She felt nauseous, enough to be sick. Her arm dropped away from Harry as she stared at the crowd.

"What'r they all lookin' at?" Hagrid said behind them, and Rane saw him stride beyond them, his hands clenched into fists at his side. "Wha's that lyin' on the grass? See it, Harry? Right at the foot of the tower? Under where Mark . . . Blimey . . . yeh don' think someone got _thrown_ . . . ?"

Rane remained where she was, paralyzed, as Hagrid inched further toward the crowd. She was aware that her breathing had become harsh, almost austere, shearing between her teeth roughly.

"Harry, is he really dead?" she asked him, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Yeah," said Harry quietly.

Hagrid was kneeling before the figure that was lying in the grass, motionless beneath the starlight; his moans were audible even at such a distance. Rane could see the white of a beard, the curled fingers lying pointed at the sky.

"Are you sure?" she asked him softly. "Are you sure it's him?"

Harry, who was watching the crowd wordlessly, nodded. "I'm sure."

Rane looked a moment longer at the figure on the ground, who was obscured every moment or so as another figure circled. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, her hands clenched into tight fists, then opened them again. And yes, that was what Albus had been wearing when last she'd seen him striding out of the Great Hall earlier that night. One of the hands, visible through the parted grass, was black and shriveled.

Wade burst through the double doors to their left, looking disheveled. His long blond hair was in disarray and his left sleeve was burned away entirely. A steady, dripping wound was visible on his forearm, bright and gleaming against the moonlight.

"Rane!" he gasped at her, seizing her shoulder roughly. "Where in the hell did you - Harry, is that -?"

"Dad," Rane said, her voice breaking. Her eyes were swimming now. Her mind kept returning to the shriveled black hand in the grass, the hand that could have belonged to no one else. "Dad, over there -"

"What's wrong?" he asked sharply. "Rane, _what's wrong_? Is somebody hurt?"

Rane shook her head, pursing her lips. Wade stared at her for a moment, bewildered, then turned his gaze to Harry

"Harry, what's - ?"

"It's Dumbledore, sir," Harry said, his voice hoarse. "He's dead."

Wade recoiled as if slapped. He took a fumbling step back, letting go of his daughter. His bright blue eyes, wide in the low light, remained on Harry for a moment, his mouth turned down.

"Oh, come on, now," Wade said softly. "Albus - he's not. He's _not!_ "

"I saw it happen," Harry said, very low. "It was Snape."

"You couldn't have seen that," Wade said at once, unknowingly echoing Hagrid. "You didn't see what you thought you saw, that's all. You're _confused,_ Harry."

Harry didn't bother replying; he simply looked past Wade to the form on the grass, his face pale. Wade looked at Rane, who returned his gaze, the tears now falling freely. His face was long with fear. The expression was absurdly foreign to his countenance and it did something peculiar to him; though Wade had lived for centuries beyond count, tonight he looked very young indeed. Behind them, a scream of horror rang out, the voice sounding incredibly childlike.

"What is he talking about?" Wade asked her roughly. "What's he talking about, with all this Dumbledore stuff?"

"Dad, that's him," Rane said, jerking her head toward the moor. "That's him over there. In the grass."

Wade shook his head at once, hard. "No it isn't. Did you walk up and -?"

Rane was shaking her head too. "No." She paused, then in an uncharacteristically small voice, she added, "I don't want to see him."

"It's somebody else," Wade said at once, sounding confident. "Death Eater, like as not."

"It's not a Death Eater," Rane told him quietly, but like Harry, she could feel a dense, exhausted heaviness creeping over her words. Arguing the point seemed like a waste of time, an act of futility. Worse, it seemed . . . _profane,_ somehow. Like spitting on a grave.

Wade turned abruptly and jogged toward the crowd. Rane watched his form diminishing across the grounds, meeting Hagrid's massive form. The crowd of bedclothed students parted for him, and Wade hesitated at Hagrid's side. His face, obscured by his long blond hair, was turned down.

Then a keening cry rose from him, echoing in the night air, sending a chill up Rane's spine. It was all the evidence she needed. There could be no more doubt who the body belonged to.

"Oh, God!" Wade shouted, falling to his knees before the form on the grass. "Oh God, no!"

Harry was striding toward the figure now, leaving Rane behind, his lean form moving between a crowd that parted for him. She saw him kneeling before the figure on the grass beside her father, who had placed both hands on Albus's cheeks as if hoping to wake him from a deep sleep. He had begun to speak Elvish, his voice harsh with emotion; the harried words fell from his lips as rapidfire-quick as a salaah, and though Rane couldn't make out what he was saying, she knew well enough what he was doing. He was trying to revive Albus, trying to use the ancient Elven magic he possessed to wake him. But that old sortilege only worked on the living.

Rane would not allow this ruse to go on; it felt as sacrilegious as denying Albus's body did. She strode forward, gently shouldering her way through the cluster of students, gasping roughly when someone brushed her injured side. Hagrid was bent over on his knees, still easily as tall as any man, shaking his head gently and weeping; Harry was still knelt beside Wade, staring at Albus silently.

And yes, as she came upon the body Rane could see the familiar, dear lined face, the knotted beard, the blackened hand lying palm-up. Though she had known well enough what she would see, there could be no preparation for it; the man who had inducted her into the Order of the Phoenix, who had held her hand after Sirius had died, who had counseled her and sent her off on countless missions, lying before her now, utterly still, his half-moon glasses knocked askew. He was the most powerful wizard Rane had ever known. And Wade had known him far longer, since he had been a professor at Hogwarts, still auburn-haired and vital. So many years between them. So many years.

Wade continued to pray feverishly, grasping Albus's face, his forehead touching the Headmaster's.

" _Naur dan i ngaurhoth_ ," he was muttering, his voice hardly a whisper now. Tears were falling freely from his eyes onto Albus's face. " _Naur dan i ngaurhoth, naur dan i hsothil, naur dan i_ -"

Rane touched his shoulder, kneeling at his side and ignoring the howl of pain it sent into her midsection, and then reaching forward prised his hands gently from Albus's face. Her fingertips brushed Albus's forehead as she did so; the skin there was already cooling. Wade straightened slowly, ceasing his salaaming, and looked up at his daughter. His eyes were bright with tears, his lip trembling. He looked not like a _maethor_ or a Sindarin warrior but a crushed young man, bereft of every hope.

"Won't do any good," she said softly, and grasped his hands in both of hers. "Won't do any good now, dad."

Wade looked at her, his brow knit, then swiped at his face with the sleeve of his shirt, seeming to collect himself. He stared down at Albus's still face, then rose to his feet.

" _Hiro hyn hidh ab 'wanath_ ," he said softly, and touched his chest, trailing his fingers aft into the cool night air. It was the last thing to say to a friend, the very last sentiment that Sindarin had to offer: _May you find peace after death_. The finality of it was harsh, bitter, but Rane relished it nonetheless. She would drink her grief to the dregs, and spare not a drop, for Albus deserved that much from them.

Still kneeling, Rane placed a hand over her heart, weeping freely now.

" _Hiro hyn hidb ab 'wanath_ ," she echoed, and let her hand trail into the air.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked her, looking up at her.

"Goodbye," she said, and wrapped a hand around his. "Goodbye and good journey."

Harry looked back down at Albus, then in a small, choked voice he echoed her.

" _Hiro hyn hidb ab 'wanath_ , professor."


	39. Bones and Hearts Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Albus's murder

Wade, true to his nature, was the first to move; he grasped Rane's shoulder, bending and speaking into her ear as she knelt beside Albus's body.

"Come on. We gotta go."

Rane turned her tear-laden eyes up to him. He had straightened, unsmiling and pale. His eyes were red in the gloom. Whatever youthfulness that had occupied his face in his anguish had since departed; now he looked old indeed, and his eyes were leaden with despair. The lines of his face held no sympathy for Rane or Harry; he seemed to be turned inward on himself, his own grief leaving no room for anyone else's.

"Come on," he said again.

Rane turned to Harry, who was still staring at Albus, his face expressionless.

"He's right, Harry," she said, and standing she pulled him up with the hand she was still clasping. "Let's go make sure everybody else is okay."

Harry rose at her urging, but his motions seemed almost robotic; Rane wrapped an arm around his shoulders and they followed Wade through the doorway to the Great Hall.

They strode through the ravaged corridors in silence save their footsteps. Wade walked with an odd, hunched-over posture, his shoulders rounded and his hair hanging in his lowered face. He looked like nothing so much as a beaten dog; there was guilt in every line of his gait. Rane knew well enough what he was feeling. She was feeling it too. As Aurors and Order members, they'd been charged with the protection of Hogwarts, and in that charge they had all failed; their enemies had broken through, and their leader lay dead outside. Now that the shock of it was beginning to ebb, shame was creeping in to take its place. Rane only hoped that the casualties of their incompetence stopped with Albus.

There were still slicks of blood and shattered glass, but if there were bodies they had been moved, save for one; there was a motionless figure near the base of the astronomy tower stairwell, black-clad and clearly dead. A silver Death Eater mask lay nearby, and Rane found herself examining it with morbid curiosity. There were smatters of blood on it, and it had been polished to a high shine, probably just for the occasion. How woefully disappointed would its owner have been, Rane wondered bitterly, to know that he would be stricken down perhaps only minutes before their forces had at last defeated Dumbledore?

"It wasn't us," Wade murmured, seeing where she was looking. "There was a Death Eater firing off killing curses willy-nilly, that was what laid him low."

"Who is it?" Rane asked.

"Dunno," Wade replied. _Nor care_ , he didn't add, but the jut of his body said it loud enough. There were other things to worry about. Rane stared at the body as they strode past, her eyes tracing the curve of the man's face. His eyes stared listlessly ahead at nothing. It seemed they were surrounded by death on all sides this evening.

Wade heaved open the hospital wing doors, walking in without a glance backwards. It was packed inside already, even so soon after the battle. Neville, the boy who'd stepped into Wade's path in the corridor, was lying in a bed nearby, bruised and clearly asleep; he hadn't listened to them after all, Rane supposed, but she was fiercely glad he was alive, at least. Ron, Hermione, Luna, Ginny, Tonks and Remus were gathered around another bed near the far end of the ward.

At the sound of the doors opening, they all looked up. Hermione ran at once to Harry and hugged him.

"Are you guys okay?" Rane asked, striding forward laboriously and clutching her side. "Is anybody hurt?"

"Filius and Neville, but not badly," said Tonks. "And . . . Well . . ."

Rane's eyes crept over Tonks's shoulder at the figure on the bed and she recoiled in spite of herself, gasping roughly. The face there was so badly slashed and bloodied that for a moment she didn't even recognize it. Madame Pomfrey was dabbing some sort of greenish ointment on the wounds. Though the face was mangled almost beyond recall, Rane recognized the crop of bright red hair easily enough.

"Jesus Christ, is that _Bill_?" She couldn't keep the abject horror from her voice. "What _happened_ to him?"

"Greyback savaged him," said Ginny, looking up at Rane.

"I thought I'd knocked him stupid before I left . . ."

"You did, for a bit," said Luna. "He just sat there clawing at his neck, but when he got back up, he was _so_ angry . . . He went rampaging around for a bit looking for you and then he found Bill . . ."

Rane looked at Remus. "He wasn't transformed, so what -?"

"We believe that Bill will not be a full werewolf," Remus told her. "But there's just no way to be sure . . ."

"Can't you use a Charm or something?" Harry asked Madame Pomfrey, watching her dab the ointment onto Bill's face with a sickened expression.

"No Charm will work on these," Madame Pomfrey replied grimly, shaking her head. "I've tried everything I know, but there is no cure for a werewolf bite."

"Dumbledore might know something that'd work, though," Ron said. "Where is he? Bill fought those maniacs on Dumbledore's orders, Dumbledore owes him, he can't leave him in this state -"

"Dumbledore's dead," said Wade, speaking for the first time. He turned from where he was looking out the window, his hands deep in his jeans pockets.

"No!" Remus said loudly. He stared from Wade to Rane, his eyes wild. "Are you certain? Are you _certain_?"

"He's gone, Remus," said Wade quietly.

Remus collapsed into a chair at Bill's bedside and buried his face in his hands. Rane had never seen Remus burst into tears, and something about bearing witness to the dissolution of his cool demeanor frightened her badly. For a moment it wasn't just guilt and sorrow she felt but a sense of being in freefall, of being completely out of control.

"How did it happen?" Tonks said quietly. "How did he die?"

"Snape killed him," said Harry. "I was there, I saw it. There were more Death Eaters in the tower after we got back, and Malfoy . . . Malfoy disarmed him -"

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth.

"- more Death Eaters arrived - and then Snape . . . It was Snape that did it. The _Avada Kedavra_."

Harry fell silent, evidently unable to continue. Madame Pomfrey, who was still bent over Bill with a handful of salve, burst into tears unabashedly. The faces that were staring at him were ashen.

" _Snape_ ," said Wade softly, shaking his head. He looked at Rane, his eyes glinting flint-like from beneath his brows. "We _just_ _missed_ him tonight!"

Rane knew the look on his face very well; he'd worn the same one the evening he'd learned that Lordran had tried to kill her. She wondered rather nastily what Snape would have made of that look had it been aimed at him. She thought he'd cow beneath it, and the thought brought her some savage pleasure that flared in her belly like a furnace.

"You saw him?" Harry asked Wade harshly. "You saw Snape? Before he . . . Before?"

"We walked up on Hermione and Luna not five minutes after he'd left his office," Rane said, low. "We knew right away that it was weird with Filius unconscious, but we couldn't have known -"

"We tried to catch up to him," Wade agreed. "He had a head start, though, he got to the tower . . . "

"He would have attacked you," Tonks said quietly. "Or lied -"

"I'd love to see him try to lie to _me_ ," Wade snarled, suddenly vitriolic. He was grasping the hilt of his sword with white-knuckled force and Rane saw Ron leaning away from him warily. "Four-flushing, fleecing backslider turncoat piece of - !"

The doors to the hospital wing swung open, interrupting him. Minerva McGonagall strode in, looking harried and unkempt. Her robes were torn and there were a few cuts on her forearms, but she looked otherwise unharmed. Her face was ashen.

"Molly and Arthur are on their way," she said. "Harry, according to Hagrid you were with Professor Dumbledore when he - when it happened. He says Professor Snape was involved in some -"

"Snape killed Dumbledore," said Harry.

She stared at him for a moment, then swayed alarmingly on her feet. Rane rushed forward and caught her a moment before she fell to the ground, supporting her weight with a snarl of agony as her broken rib screamed in protest. She sat Minerva on the nearest bed, sitting down herself and breathing harshly, clutching her side.

"Snape," Minerva said faintly. "Of course, we all wondered - but Albus always seemed to have an ironclad reason for trusting him . . ."

"Snape is a highly accomplished Occlumens," Remus said harshly. To Rane, he looked as angry and disgusted as her father. "We all knew that."

"This is all my fault," said Minerva suddenly. She looked disoriented, twisting her wet handkerchief in her hands. "My fault. I sent Filius to fetch Snape tonight, I actually sent for him to come and help us! If I hadn't alerted Snape to what was going on, he might never have joined forces with the Death Eaters. I don't think he knew they were there before Filius told him, I don't think he knew they were coming."

"It isn't your fault, Minerva," said Lupin firmly. "We all wanted more help, we were glad to think Snape was on his way…"

"What happened once he got there?" Harry asked.

Rane glanced at her father, who had begun to pace back and forth.

"When dad and I got there everyone was already well into it," she said, glancing at Tonks. Tonks nodded, her face pale. "Everyone was trying to get up the stairs, but I didn't even think about why until I saw you come running down -"

"We saw Fenrir attack you," Ron said. "We thought he'd gotten you and Harry both."

"Rane throat-punched him," said Ginny, sounding impressed.

"Not hard enough, apparently," Rane muttered, glancing guiltily at Bill's mutilated face.

The doors to the hospital wing banged open again, and Arthur and Molly Weasley rushed in. Molly was clutching Idril to her chest, and with hardly a sideways glance at Rane she had deposited her into Rane's arms. Idril was fast asleep, wrapped in a thick blanket that bore the Gryffindor colors, probably some relic of one of the older Weasley's Hogwarts days, and the transition roused her not at all; she remained silent and motionless, visible only by her thick crop of black hair. She was nearing a year old and weighed as much as a propane tank, and Rane caught her awkwardly against her broken rib, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her that made her wince.

Molly hardly slowed; she had eyes only for her son and made a beeline for his bedside at once. She and Arthur crowded around their son, and Rane heard Molly began to weep in earnest.

"You said Greyback attacked him?" said Arthur distractedly. "But he hadn't transformed? So what does that mean? What will happen to Bill?"

"We don't yet know," said Minerva, looking helplessly at Lupin.

"There will probably be some contamination, Arthur," said Lupin. "It's an odd case, possibly unique . . . We don't know what his behavior might be like when he awakens . . ."

Molly had meanwhile snatched the ointment from Madam Pomfrey and begun dabbing at Bill's wounds, tears streaming down her face.

"And Dumbledore," said Arthur. "Is it true that he . . . ?"

"He's gone," said Wade, slightly muffled. He had squatted on his hunkers, his head dangling between his knees and both hands scrabbling at his scalp restlessly, his face hidden behind the locks of blond hair dangling before it. Rane knew the gesture well; it meant he was anxious to be off, to be out of the situation. As she watched, he rose back to his full height, sighing roughly and adjusting the fall of his holstered sword. "Bushwhacked on the home field, no less."

Arthur sighed too, folding his arms before his thin chest and shaking his head slowly.

"Dumbledore gone," he whispered. "I can hardly believe it."

"Are you hurt, Rane?" Wade asked Rane abruptly. He was watching her closely.

Rane glanced up at him, having been readjusting Idril's blanket. "I'm fine."

"Come on, you're sweating bullets, what's wrong?"

"Think I popped a rib, is all,"

"How'd you manage that?" Tonks asked her. "Was it Greyback?"

"No, it was one of the Carrows," Rane replied, lying Idril still swaddled onto the bed, where she remained perfectly motionless, untroubled by the conversation around her. "They hit me with a Cruciatus curse while I was running outside and I landed weird on my sword, it's not a big - Dad, hang on, no -"

But Wade was already pulling his wand. Rane recoiled from it at once. Her father's mending spells were notoriously merciless.

"It's fine, don't, I'll just -!"

" _Brackium emendo_!" he said loudly, and Rane shrieked hoarsely as the rib snapped back into place with a whipcrack sound that was very loud in the wing. Idril jolted at her mother's cry and opened her bright eyes, staring up into Rane's face in bewilderment.

"Dammit!" Rane hissed, glaring at her father. "I told you I was fine -!"

"'Ammit," Idril murmured, then her eyes slipped shut again.

"And that's great, now she knows a new cuss," Rane added crossly.

The doors to the Hospital Wing swung open once again, and now Hagrid was striding inside. His face was swollen and red and he was still weeping freely. Rane felt a cramp of grief at the sight of him; something about seeing Hagrid so desperately upset seemed to cement the truth of Albus's death in her mind.

"I've . . . I've done it, Professor," he choked. "M-moved him. Professor Sprout's got the kids back in bed. Professor Flitwick's lyin down, but he says he'll be all righ' in a jiffy, an' Professor Slughorn says the Ministry's bin informed."

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Minerva, standing up at once and turning to look at the group around Bill's bed. "I shall have to see the Ministry when they get here. Hagrid, please tell the Heads of Houses - Horace can represent Slytherin - that I want to see them in my office forthwith. I would like you to join us too."

Hagrid nodded, turned, and shuffled out of the room again, she looked down at Harry.

"Before I meet them I would like a quick word with you, Harry. If you'll come with me."

Harry looked up at her, clearly startled out of a reverie. He rose, striding toward the door. Rane reached out before he got there and yanked him toward her by the hand, grateful for the ache that had replaced the sharp agony of her broken rib, and hugged him tightly to her.

"Are you leaving tonight?" Harry asked. Rane pulled back, looking down at him, her brow knit, then glanced around her. There was, of course, no Albus here anymore to tell her that she could spend the night.

"We probably need to go visit the Elves," she told him honestly. "They should hear it from us. I'll be in touch, don't worry."

Harry nodded, glancing behind him at Hermione and Ron, then followed Minerva and Hagrid out of the room.


	40. The Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus is laid to rest

It was the better part of a week before Rane saw Harry Potter again.

Wade and Rane set off for Ylle Thalas almost immediately, with Idril in tow (in light of Bill's injury, Rane had firmly rebuffed Molly's tearful insistence that she could keep her for a few days more). She had been hesitant to bring Idril to the Elven city even under the circumstances, however - it was not so many moons ago that they had tried to murder Idril before she'd even kindled - and when they'd Apparated at the gates, she'd finally lost her nerve.

_We'll just stay outside_ , she had said, cowing. While it was true that there was a touch of shame in her voice for her own cowardice, her concern for Idril's safety was greater and louder by far.

Wade had slowed and then stopped. He turned to her, his face hard.

_I don't want Idril in there with all of them_ , Rane had gone on wildly, feeling a reckless compulsion to provide some sort of feeble justification for rolling over and showing her belly just steps before the gates. Wade watched her, expressionless. _I don't want them to hurt her. It's dangerous, she -_

_Rane, someone is dead._

His rigid posture and his low, growling tone were both formidable enough to send Rane a clear message: tonight, on the eve of Dumbledore's murder, Wade Roth would suffer argument from no man or Elf, and certainly not from the likes of her. Rane said nothing more; she clutched Idril to her chest and padded after him rather meekly as he made his way through the gates, moving with long, loping strides, his head low. And in the end, she needn't have feared, anyway; the Elves seemed hardly aware of Idril's presence at all (Idril wasn't terribly fussed with theirs, either; she remained fast asleep for the duration of the visit). If the city still fostered contempt for Idril and Rane, it was veiled this evening, whether from a hang-fire or otherwise.

The small council was in the late stages of assembly when Rane and Wade strode into the clearing beneath the cavernous oak tree, which was rife with new green shoots, and Rane realized with an unpleasant jolt that the last time she had been here, Sirius had been by her side, navigating the final few months of his life, all unknowing. The unbidden thought of him, as it always did, caught her by surprise, filling her with cold shock before fading into a hollow, indigent sense of emptiness that went far beyond simple grief. It had been almost a year to the day, and though time had begun the Herculean task of dulling the sharpest edge of her anguish, Rane could not have said with any real honesty that she was better, that she was _coping_. Things had begun to change a little, yes, and Idril had brought with her advent a new kind of love that was both powerful and fulfilling, but her heart felt as hollow as a dead tree, more for show now than anything else. Coping was a strange way to phrase what was happening here; in all the most important ways, Rane felt that her life had simply been divided neatly into two halves - the world with Sirius, and the world without him. She was not coping so much as realizing slowly that the girl who had entered the Department of Mysteries and the one who had left it were different people.

Swiping surreptitiously at her eyes, Rane followed Wade as he approached the council, who were clustered together, not sitting down but standing in congregation, looking anxious and restive. Rane wondered distantly how Wade had summoned them so quickly, and in the middle of the night, no less; she had not seen him send any owls as they stood in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, and he had hardly strayed from her sight after they'd discovered the body lying beneath the astronomy tower. Lordran was notably not in evidence, and Rane felt a rush of gratitude for the fact. Maybe he really had been assigned guard duty, after all.

Iliwynn was the first to step forward, her lovely face harried. Her hair was down, unadorned and hanging nearly to her waist in gentle golden waves, and Rane knew that it was likely she had been roused from sleep only moments before they had arrived.

"What cause do you bring, Undunai?" she asked Wade. Her brows were knitted. "The hour is late, and there is a fell voice on the air."

Wade lowered his hood, and Rane saw with a jolt that he was weeping. He bowed his head briefly to Iliwynn and the rest of the council, and then, in a thick voice, lifted his eyes to hers and spoke.

"My lady, Albus Dumbledore is dead."

There was a collective intake of air. Iliwynn stared at him for a moment in silence, then took a step backwards and fell roughly into the stone chair at the head of the rotunda. The rest of the council continued to stare at Wade in silent horror.

"My sleep has been alive with visions," said Iliwynn softly, staring at the stone floor beneath them. "In my foolishness I did not see them for what they were. For the heralds of death levied, and I was too foolish to know them." She paused, then, in a harsh, low hiss, " _Fool_! But I am a _fool_ for not seeing it!"

"How?" one of the Elves asked. His voice was faint, and he was staring at Wade in abject horror.

Wade clasped his hands behind his back, took an unsteady breath and began to speak.

"He . . ."

But he could not go on. His voice broke on the very first word, and he let out a sob in its wake, his shoulders hunching; he hung his head, his long blond hair falling into his face, his tears dotting the stone beneath him. Rane stared at him, horrified. She had never before seen her father cry, not one time in the near-thirty years that she had spent with him; indeed, Wade was notoriously stoic, seldom betraying even the merest signs of weakness. Rane had never seen him lost in hysterical laughter, or drunk, or even sick. It was frightening, almost as frightening as seeing Albus's body had been.

"He was murdered," Rane said, turning back to Iliwynn. Wade sunk into the chair behind him, hiding his face behind one shaking hand. "One of the professors at Hogwarts. He betrayed us."

" _Firima_!" someone cried, sounding appalled. One of the Elves was weeping openly, tears streaming down her face, shaking her head.

"You are _certain_?" said Iliwynn sharply, unknowingly echoing Remus hours earlier. "You are _certain_ , Rane?"

Rane nodded. She could think of nothing she'd like to do less than recount what had happened to Albus all over again, but behind her Wade remained slouched in the stone chair, his shoulders shaking gently, and it looked like there was just nothing for it. Rane hoisted Idril to her hip, where she continued to rest peacefully, her breathing gentle and regular against Rane's ribs. Her uncanny gift for sleeping through everything must have come from her dad's side of the family, Rane thought enviously.

She recounted briefly what had happened, noting with some discomfort the hush that fell over her audience as she spoke. When she had finished, Wade, who had remained silent behind her, got abruptly to his feet.

"We failed him, Iliwynn," he said thickly. His face was red and tear-streaked, and all poise had departed from him. "We were set to guard the castle and he died because we allowed them to get inside, he'd be alive if we -"

" _Peace_ you!" Iliwynn said, rather sharply. Her eyes were overbright as well, but the expression on her face was a reproachful one. "Neither you nor I could have foreseen this betrayal, and had this murderer been given the opportunity, Albus would have perished just the same! _Peace_ you with your selfish decrees of fault, Undunai, they serve you not!"

Wade stared at her for a moment, his face red, then seemed to attempt to collect himself. He straightened, squaring his shoulders.

" _Goheno nin_ ," he said softly, and nodded to her. "Forgive me."

Iliwynn stepped forward, placing one hand on Wade's cheek. "He was a friend to the Elves, one of the oldest and truest, and for his passing . . . For his passing, my heart breaks . . ."

Her voice wavered on the last word, and she lost some of her briskness. After a moment, she straightened, clearing her throat.

"But now is not the time to grieve for him," she went on. "In his absence the enemy will burgeon and grow bold. Against this we must fortify our defenses. Ievos," she added, glancing over at the small council. A tall, stately Elf stepped forward, inclining his head to her. "You know what we must do now."

The Elf turned and strode off without a word. Rane watched him go, feeling a vague sense of worry.

"What will you do?" she asked Iliwynn bluntly.

"You're reinforcing the borders," Wade said, looking at her with clear apprehension. "You're readying them for war."

"For who suffers more in the face of such things than the unprepared?" Iliwynn said, but Rane thought she sounded worried, too. "We will stand with the Order of the Phoenix, and fight against the threat of the Death Eaters. Will you tell them so?"

"I will," said Wade. "I'll stay here, if you need me to -"

But Iliwynn was shaking her head. "Your friends need you now, Undunai," she said. "You must protect them. There is a war coming, and they must be ready to fight."

With this she turned and faced the small council.

"I take my leave," she said, and with a brief bow towards Rane and Wade she swept off, her long hair trailing behind her. The council was dispersing now too, and Rane glanced up at her father, who was watching Iliwynn's receding form with great disquiet.

"Are you okay?" she asked him quietly.

Wade looked down at her, seeming to remember himself. His cheeks were dry now, but his eyes were still red.

"Albus was a friend," he said simply. "A damn good friend, and I hate to see him go this way. But yeah, I'm okay. We need to get going."

"Where?" Rane asked, keeping pace with him as he strode down the marble staircase.

"To warn the rest of the cities in the country," Wade told her. Now that the thickest of his emotion had passed, he had regained his brisk, businesslike tone. But for the dampness of his eyes, it might not have happened at all. "They need to be warned. Iliwynn is right, now that Dumbledore's gone, Voldemort's gonna press his advantage."

Rane noted the use of Albus's surname, and understood it at once. Wade was trying to hold it together. Hell, they both were. Sirius had been bad, really bad, but his death had not brought with it this sinking fear, this hopelessness. It was as if their beacon had gone out, and now they fumbled in the darkness, trying to find their way again.

"Do you think they'll give him a funeral?" Rane asked her father suddenly.

The question almost reversed Wade's façade again. He made a business of adjusting the sheath of his sword at his belt, his face turned from her, before answering.

"'Course." He cleared his throat, sounding a little steadier. "'Course he'll have a funeral."

Rane fell silent. That word - _funeral_ \- seemed to seal the truth of Albus's death more than anything that had come before it, and she had to swallow back her own tears as they strode toward the gates.

They called on four cities in all over the next several days, and stayed at least a night at each. Rane had not even known these places existed, never mind visited them; the last, in particular, was incredibly huge, seeming to dwarf Ylle Thalas by a mile. It was called Nilen Caelora and it was situated at the topmost peak of Scotland, not a day's journey from Hogwarts by train. Though Ylle Thalas reigned as the capitol, her father had informed her that Nilen Caelora was far older, and the vaulted buttresses and strange, gothic architecture seemed to speak to this. It was in Nilen Caelora, as they departed late on the second evening, that first Rane heard the singing begin.

It was ethereal, terribly sad and lovely, seeming to creep into her very bones and settle there like a chill, erupting her flesh in goose bumps. The dialect of Elvish was not one she was familiar with; it had an almost otherworldly quality.

"I've never heard Elvish like that before," she remarked. She was faintly amused to find that her tone had dropped to just more than a whisper of its own accord, the same low pitch that would likely be adopted among the pews of an abandoned cathedral. "I can't understand it at all."

"That's Avarin Quenya," Wade told her, also _sotto voice_. "Hardly anyone speaks it anymore, it's old as sin and mostly ceremonial these days. Sort of like Latin, I guess."

"Do you speak it?" Rane asked him.

"I was taught Avarin, yeah."

"So what are they saying?"

Wade glanced at her. He had the pinched, ailing look of someone who wasn't sleeping well, and Rane doubted that she looked any better. Only Idril was making it through the night of late; she woke to eat each morning and putter around while the tale of Albus's murder was recounted again and again, but she napped frequently during the day and from dusk to dawn she was dead to the world. Rane had wondered privately if she sensed, on some level, the desperation and despair that surrounded them on these journeys and was dealing with it by checking out. If so, she was envious.

"It's a song for Albus," Wade told Rane. The corners of his mouth were turned down, and he looked away from her. Rane had never known his emotions to brim so close to the surface as they had these past few days. "A lament."

He hesitated, seeming reluctant to go on. The sound of their bootheels on the stone were loud, and the song flowed around them sinuously. He continued, perhaps because he knew his daughter would press him if he didn't.

"They talk about his life, mostly. They're saying goodbye. Albus was always good to the Elves. They called him _U'saelor_ here in Nilen Caelora. Means 'old friend' in Avarin."

"Will you translate it for me?"

Wade considered this, then shook his head. "I don't have it in me yet, Rane."

Rane fell silent, listening to the song as they left the city. She never learned what the song meant, but she never forgot it, either.

NEWS reached them of Albus's funeral the following morning, after the two of them had at last returned to Order headquarters. The place was abandoned, but the leavings of its members collaborating in the kitchen were in evidence, though judging by the mess left behind Molly had surely not been in attendance. Idril was asleep, predictably enough, and Rane took her upstairs and placed her in her bed, where she rolled over and curled both hands against her chest. It was a new habit, and Rane found it particularly endearing; she had seen Sirius sleeping the same way more times than she could count.

Together, without discussion, she and Wade began to clean the kitchen up in silence. Rane used magic, setting the dishes to wash themselves in the sink and clearing the table of grime, but Wade collected the empty goblets and plates by hand, his face oddly empty. He was standing over the sink, scrubbing grimly at a cauldron, when the tapping at the window began.

Rane strode over and swung open the latch, and a handsome tawny owl hopped inside, ruffling his feathers, and stuck a leg out. Rane removed the parchment scroll tied there and unfurled it, her eyes racing back and forth.

"What is it?" Wade asked from behind her, sounding disinterested. He had fallen sullenly silent over the past few days.

"The funeral," Rane said softly. She heard Wade drop the cauldron with a clang in the sink. "It's tomorrow morning. Minerva wants us to go."

She glanced over her shoulder at her father, whose back was still turned to her, his head lowered over the sink, both hands gripping the ancient porcelain there.

"Tomorrow?" he repeated, his voice gruff.

"Tomorrow." Rane took a breath and released it. "In the morning, she says."

"We'll be there, of course," Wade said. "Will you send it back to her so she knows?"

"'Course," Rane replied. She had already pulled a quill from the nearest pot of ink and was scrawling the message on the back of the parchment. She attached it to the owl's leg and watched him soar off into the morning sunshine.

"Do you think the Elves will -?" Rane began, turning, but Wade had already departed, leaving the cauldron half-scrubbed in the sink. She heard him thundering up the stairwell, and a moment later the declamatory slam of a door came to her.

THE grounds at Hogwarts were already packed when Rane and Wade arrived, and Rane felt oddly heartened to see the fantastically diverse group that had come to bid Albus farewell. The members of the Order were all in evidence - Kingsley, Tonks, Remus, Mad-Eye, others - as was the whole of the student body and the entire exhaustive staff. Minerva herself was seated near the front of the elaborate display that had been rendered, and at the center of the chairs was a great white marble tomb.

"So he'll be put to rest here," Rane murmured, and smiled to herself. "He'd want that."

"He certainly would," Wade agreed at her elbow. He had eschewed wizard garb today, as Rane had, and was clad in a black suit and tie, his long blond hair tied into a neat knot at the nape of his neck. Rane was wearing a close black dress and a pair of boots. Idril was toddling at her side, grasping one finger and goggling around with comical wonder. "He'd not have had it any other way."

Rane spotted Harry some ways off, sitting alone except for Ginny Weasley, who was near at hand. They were holding hands, and Rane nudged Wade and gestured with her chin, smiling.

"Would you look at that," Wade muttered, grinning himself. It was the first genuine smile Rane had seen grace his face in some time, and the sight of it brought her some comfort.

"There's still some love in the world, after all," Rane replied.

"Albus would be happy to see it," Wade said, and he reached an arm out and slung it around her shoulders. He gestured with the hand gripping her shoulder, nodding aft. "And tell me that isn't a lovely sight to clap eyes on, daughter mine."

Rane turned. There was a succession of Elves filing toward the congregation, wearing white and carrying a billowing flag amongst them. The song that Rane had heard in Nilen Caelora was echoing up from them, filling the empty grounds with its despairing tune. The heads of the students were turning to watch their advent curiously. Iliwynn was at the head of the procession, a silky veil covering her face. As they approached, the procession halted, as did the song, and as a unit they bowed before the white marble tomb. Across from them, Rane spotted the Minister of Magic, looking forlornly around him, surrounded by a company of officials.

Hagrid had been chosen to bear Albus's body to its final resting place, and as Rane watched him proceed, she felt the first sting of tears behind her eyes. There was no one else who could have done it, she thought, no one even close. A man that Rane didn't recognize got to his feet after Albus was entombed and said a few words, but Rane and Wade, so far back from the crowd, could not hear any of them, and Rane didn't much care what he had to say anyways. She felt confident enough that he would not have revealed any deeper truths about the man that she hadn't already intuited. When he had at last left the podium, to smatterings of applause, Rane saw the Elves turning and making their way for the borders of the grounds. She wondered if they'd used magic to get here or if horses had born them.

The service wasn't long, and soon the staff and students were dispersing, the guests making their way towards Hogsmeade, where many of them had doubtless rented beds for the event. Rane saw the Minister approach Harry as he strode off towards the lake, but Harry clearly rebuffed him without too much delay; he was storming away a few moments later, his brow dark. He spotted Rane as he passed and turned his gaze from her as if he hadn't noticed her at all.

Rane lifted Idril and handed her to Wade, who took her amicably enough.

"I'll be back," she said shortly.

"You gonna go talk to Harry?" Wade asked her.

Rane nodded, striding off. Harry was standing on the edge of the lake, staring off into its gently glimmering reflective surface. Rane came up to him, standing at his side.

"You look like a guy thinking long thoughts," she said after a moment, glancing at him.

Harry looked over at her. "I'm not coming back to Hogwarts," he said quietly.

Rane lowered her head. She'd known from the evening that Albus had been killed that he wouldn't be back here. She reached out and grasped his hand.

"I don't know what it is you guys were doing," she said, "but I'll help you, Harry. However I can."

Harry looked up at her, and she reached out and stole his hand in her own, squeezing.

"Thanks, Rane," he said.

"I got you. Just don't get killed and we'll call it square."

Harry laughed, an oddly hollow sound, and together they stared off into the sparkling lake as the cool wind whistled around them.


	41. The Seven Potters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order helps to escort Harry Potter from Privet Drive.

"Shit FIRE and save the _matches_!"

"Sorry, Rane," Hagrid told her, looking sidelong at her ruefully. "Got a mind of 'er own, she does . . ."

Rane was hopping around clutching at one bare shin, which she'd unintentionally brushed against the white-hot metal of the flying motorcycle that Hagrid had ridden as they landed at Privet Drive. Rane fell to the pavement, her long legs folding beneath her, and examined her burned calf critically, her wand sitting on the ground at her side.

"Mother _fucker_!" she hissed. "It's okay," she added quickly as Hagrid looked on anxiously, throwing him a pained smile, "shouldn't have been so close to you when we landed, my own stupid fault . . ."

They had just lit upon the cement before a little house, surrounded by several others who were in various states of reappearance; Rane's own Disillusionment charm was slowly fading, revealing her shorts-clad form a few feet from Hagrid, who was still astride the bike. Around them were Mad-Eye, Remus, Tonks, Fleur, Bill, Hermione, Arthur, Ron, Fred, George, Kingsley, and of course the dubious Mundungus Fletcher, who looked none too thrilled to be there, either. The house before them was rather startlingly boring, painted a monotonous hue and sitting before a lawn that was unexceptional save for its tidiness. It was late evening, the sunlight fading to an orange-red hue on the horizon, casting the group in a dreamy bluish-pink tinge.

"It's fine," said Wade Roth, who had manifested nearby and was peering at the burned spot bent over with his hands on his knees. "You've done worse trying to boil water for pasta, Rane, we can both attest to that -"

"Leave my cooking out of this," Rane murmured, throwing him an unimpressed look and getting laboriously to her feet. She gestured to the drab house before them with one hand. "Is this it?"

"That's it," said Tonks bleakly. "Bit dull, innit?"

"They're Muggles," Wade remarked wryly, as if this explained it.

"Well, _that's_ not fair," Hermione admonished, looking offended. "My mum and dad are Muggles and they've got a really nice house . . . !"

"Yeah, maybe, but Harry's aunt and uncle are _twats_ ," Ron told her. Arthur elbowed him hard in the side, looking stern.

"Come on, we're on a tight schedule," Mad-Eye growled, limping forward and leaning heavily on his staff. The rest of them followed him up the walk.

They had not yet reached the stoop when Harry Potter, clad in Muggle attire and wearing a broad grin, wrenched open the door and stepped outside, regarding them all with clear relief. He spotted Rane and rushing forward threw his arms around her, and she hugged him fiercely. Hermione pounced on him next, followed by Ron, who clapped him on the back genially.

"Dammit, quit getting taller every time I see you," Rane admonished him, grinning in spite of herself. "Your aunt and uncle have shit taste in décor, buddy -"

"That and everything else," Harry agreed, glancing around him. "Alright, Hagrid?"

"Better'n ever," Hagrid agreed, beaming at him. "Ready ter be off?"

"Definitely," Harry said, "but I wasn't expecting so many of you!"

"Change of plan," said Mad-Eye gruffly, brandishing the bulging sack he was carrying over one shoulder. "Let's get inside, we'll explain the rest . . ."

They strode into the foyer and through a livingroom that was as dowdy as the house's exterior, though notably empty; the furniture had been moved out with Harry's uncle and aunt, leaving in its place the horrid brown carpet studded with great bare spots. There was a musty, flowery smell in the air that Rane associated with the homes of very fastidiously clean people, seeming to permeate her clothes. She resisted the urge to shake off her boots as she strode inside, reminding herself that there was no one there to reprove her for tracking in the mud.

"Have we re-conned the house?" Wade asked, glancing around warily.

"Well, considering Mad-Eye's involved," Tonks murmured, "he's probably got the whole city under surveillance -"

"Yes, we have," Mad-Eye interrupted, glancing at Wade, "and it's all okay. Just steer clear of the windows, mind you."

"You're making far too big a deal of this, you know," Tonks told him.

"No, we're not," Wade said grimly, shaking his head. "The chances that they actually bought what we fed them is going on nil, and if they show up -"

"Let's stay positive, shall we?" said Remus pointedly, giving Wade a severe look.

"Yeah, you're scaring the children," Rane agreed, elbowing Fred and smirking.

Wade fell silent, but he seemed brooding. He'd been a bundle of nerves about this ever since the plan to evacuate Harry from Privet Drive had begun to take shape some months prior. It had been Albus's initiative and he had started to formulate it some five weeks before his murder, calling for volunteers to escort Harry from Surrey to a safe location once the ancient magic that protected him wore off on his birthday. It had seemed a fairly straightforward enterprise at first, but it had not remained so; Albus had not lived long enough to see the treachery of one of their own laid bare, after all. Truth be told, Rane had not felt particularly good about it, herself; she had experienced the same dim, undulating uneasiness that had plagued her in the week or so before Hogwarts had been infiltrated, and it worried her, somewhat. She had not spoken of it, however - had placed it entirely aside. She refused to even entertain the idea that Harry might not safely reach his destination.

"Harry, guess what?" Tonks was saying. She'd planted herself on top of the washing machine and had extended her left hand, wiggling her fingers at him. On the third finger, a band glittered in the low light. Rane felt a strange combination of emotions flare in her belly at the sight of it, as had happened each time she caught sight of that ring since the event itself - gladness and sorrow, mostly. She moved quickly to rearrange her distressed expression, but she needn't have worried; Harry was beaming at Tonks and Remus.

"You got married?" he remarked, looking shocked.

"I'm sorry you couldn't be there, Harry, it was very quiet," Tonks told him.

"That's brilliant, congrat -!"

"All right, all right, we'll have time for a cozy catch-up later!" roared Mad-Eye over the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen. He dropped his sacks at his feet and turned to Harry. "As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He's made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother's charm does that already. What he's _really_ done is to stop you getting out of here safely."

"Pius Thicknesse?" said Harry, looking around.

"He's the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement now," Wade told him. "They moved him up after Amelia Bones was killed over the -"

" _Second_ problem," Mad-Eye went on loudly, throwing Wade an impatient glance, "you're underage, which means you've still got the Trace on you."

"The Trace?" Harry begun, looking confused.

"Ministry puts it on kids under seventeen so they can track their magic use," Rane supplied quickly, while Mad-Eye looked aggravated. "And with Thicknesse wise to what you're up to, the other side will be, too, or so Mad-Eye believes -"

" _Knows_ , Roth, not believes!" Mad-Eye snapped at her waspishly. "What all this _means_ , Potter, is that the Ministry thinks they've got you cornered good and proper, so we've got to transport you out of here the only way that's left for us - thestrals, broomsticks, and Hagrid's motorbike."

"We left them a fake trail," Arthur told Harry. "They don't think you're being moved for a few more days yet."

"How do you know they bought it?"

"We don't," Wade told Harry. Rane shot him a warning glance, which he ignored. "We're just hoping for the goddam best, _that's_ what we're doing, that's _all_ we're doing, and if Mad-Eye here had a shred of logic we'd have just -"

"Save your breath, Wade, we've already heard it all before -!"

"- used an _Elven_ _escort_ ," Wade went on, his voice rising, overriding Mad-Eye, "we'd have had _zero_ issues the whole damn way back to -!"

"Your bloody Elves wouldn't have been able to protect Potter for this, Roth," Mad-Eye retorted heatedly.

Wade seemed to swell. "Well, they're a damn sight better equipped than half a bottle of _Polyjuice_ to get him out of -!"

"Alright, _alright_!" Rane said loudly, glaring between the two men. Both fell reluctantly silent. "That's enough! We've got a plan, leave it the hell alone and let's get it over with, huh? What are we here for?"

She gestured angrily at Harry. Wade sighed roughly, rolling his head on his shoulders.

"Wait a second, _Polyjuice_?" Harry remarked, looking dismayed. "What d'you mean _Polyjuice_?"

"Well, there's the catch," Mad-Eye told him grimly. "Seven Potters heading to different locations, you see . . . It'll confuse them, make them -"

"No."

Rane glanced from Harry to Mad-Eye, her expression unsurprised. She'd fully expected Harry to react this way when the idea had first been introduced.

"Yes," Mad-Eye said, pulling a flask from his robes. "We're all overage here, Potter, and all of us have agreed to -"

"No way!" Harry retorted, looking horrified "It's mad, you'll be -!"

"We'll be taking a risk we were all well aware of," Remus told him.

"It's already been decided," Bill agreed apologetically.

Harry mouthed soundlessly for a second, looking scandalized.

"You need something of mine," he settled on at last, glaring around him, "and I won't give it, I won't -!"

"Granger, if you please," Mad-Eye said, nodding, and Hermione strode forward at once and yanked a handful of Harry's hair out as she passed. Harry yelped in surprise, clutching at the back of his head.

"Sorry Harry, but we knew you'd react that way," she told him over one shoulder, dropping the hairs into the flask. It began to froth and bubble at once, turning a bright emerald green. She, Ron, Fred, George, Fleur and a reluctant-looking Mundungus were lining up before Mad-Eye now, and each took a swig of the thick liquid in their turn. In a few moments, there were indeed seven Harrys standing before Rane, all of them adjusting freshly ill-fitting clothes. Rane turned prudently away as they began stripping with impunity, digging in Mad-Eye's sack for better fitting garments.

A few moments later found them making their way outside. She caught sight of one of the Harrys shutting the door of the house prudently behind him, and figured he was the real Harry. She tweaked his arm gently as he strode past.

"You look familiar, have we met?"

"Do I?" Harry replied, hitching the shoulder of his robes. He paused, glancing toward the empty sky, then added, "you'll be careful?"

"Nope. I intend to behave with reckless abandon."

"I'm not kidding."

Rane bumped his shoulder gently with hers. "Quit worrying, we'll be fine. Just mind your elbows in there while you're flying around with Sons of Anarchy over there."

She and Harry strode to Hagrid, who was already astride the massive motorcycle parked on the pavement. Around them, discussions abounded of who would transport themselves and how; there were several brooms, and a handful of black, skeletal creatures that Rane recognized as thestrals, creatures she had not seen since she'd last visited Hogwarts on guard duty. They stamped and snorted in the warm evening, looking about them mildly, ears swiveling and vast wings trembling in the light breeze.

"Is this it?" Harry asked, placing a hand on the motorcycle. "Is this Sirius' bike?"

"The very same," Hagrid replied, patting its side with clear affection. Rane found herself admiring it, herself; Sirius had told her many times about his adventures on the back of this thing, and now that it was hitched before her she found she could envision him straddling it all too well. It seemed very . . . Very _him_. "And the las' time yeh was on it, Harry, I could fit yeh in one hand!"

Harry stole one final glance back at Rane then began to climb laboriously into the sidecar attached to the motorcycle, grasping his luggage and the cage containing his snowy white owl Hedwig. Rane stood looking at him a moment longer, feeling uneasy, then turned and strode toward her father, who was standing at the side of a thestral not far from where Hagrid was parked. He was shooting nasty looks towards Mad-Eye as he readjusted the bridle.

"Will you give it a rest, grumpy?" she admonished him, climbing onto the thestral with the same ease with which she had mounted Elven horses many times. "Just leave him be, he's trying to do right."

"Yeah, well." Wade pulled the bridle taut with a creak of leather then swung onto the thestral behind Rane. "I still think Ylle Thalas could have made this a hell of a lot easier than he's -"

Rane rapped his knee with her knuckles, glancing over one shoulder. "Shush and leave it," she muttered. "Harry's why we're here, not so you and Mad-Eye can bicker like a couple of old ladies."

Wade sighed roughly. Ahead of them, Mad-Eye was standing before the group, who were now well-saddled on brooms and thestrals. The several different Harrys was rather discombobulating; Rane hoped fervently that they didn't run into any trouble, and if they did, that the enemy was adequately thrown by the diversion. She didn't think much of Mad-Eye's allowance of Fred, George, Ron and Hermione to volunteer as decoys, but she had to concede to his logic; they were overage, fully legal and quite able to make their own decisions. It was difficult to believe, even now, but none of them were children anymore.

"All right, then," said Mad-Eye, "everyone ready, please; I want us all to leave at exactly the same time or the whole point of the diversion's lost."

Rane readjusted herself on the thestral's bony back, glancing around her nervously. She felt her father's hands tighten around her waist; his hastened breathing was hot against her neck.

"You nervous?" she asked quietly.

"No," said Wade. He snorted. "Yeah, fuck yes, I am. I don't think this will end well."

"Well, let's hope you're wrong," Rane said, low. "Hold on tight, I'm gonna drive this thing like Richard Petty and you're in charge of offense if anything shows up."

" _I ithil eria, romru cân Iluvatar_ ," Wade intoned in a quick rapidfire, and she felt one of his hands falter on her lean waist and presumably touch his forehead. Rane recognized it as an Elven prayer for luck, and a superstitious one, indeed, not dissimilar to the Muggle practice of throwing salt over one's shoulder or forking the evil eye at black cats: _the moon rises, trumpets rise, guard our passage Iluvatar_. She scoffed loudly, feeling an unpleasant thread of disquiet.

"There's no need for that voodoo witchdoctor shit right now, dad."

"Better safe than sorry," Wade told her darkly. Rane subsided, recognizing defeat in the face of this ecclesiastical rendition of her father; he would not be talked out of such absurdity, however useless. She wrapped the reigns around her fists twice, the leather creaking, watching Mad-Eye alertly.

"Good luck, everyone," shouted Moody. "See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One . . . two . . . THREE!"

There was a bustle as everyone kicked off from the pavement. Rane jerked the reigns of the thestral and they were airborne in an instant, the air flying around them violently. Privet drive diminished beneath them with dizzy speed, becoming first a ribbon and then a thread beneath them, and the clouds closed in, surrounding them in chilly white mist. Rane glanced around her as they leveled and began to soar forwards; the motorcycle that had once belonged to Sirius, now fully loaded with both Hagrid's monstrous form and Harry's slight one, was roaring along not far away, its steady thrum reverberating in Rane's bones. Nearby, thestrals and brooms, all bearing passengers, zipped along through the cloudy night, heads swiveling alertly, wands held at the ready. For a moment or two, it seemed that they had the sky to themselves, but then -

"On your left!" Wade bellowed suddenly from behind her. She saw the tip of her father's wand, wavering in the wind, out of the corner of her left eye. A bright red bolt shot out into the clouds, seeming to vanish into nothing, but Rane could now see the faint, cloudy shapes he was shooting at, and her heart gave an unpleasant wrench inside her. There were forms, broomstick-borne, soaring forth now in the sky ahead of them . . .

Rane's head spun around towards the crowd of her peers, all of whom were still flying along, all unaware. She yanked the thestral's reigns, trying to close the distance between them.

"WATCH OUT!" she bellowed, but her voice seemed lost in the wind and though no one acknowledged her, she needn't have worried; they were surrounded in an instant, and in a moment everyone's heads were following the progress of their pursuers. Rane put their number at around thirty, and the spells began to fly at once, shooting with apparent abandon, the lights flashing against the dark.

There were screams, and Rane saw the motorcycle bearing Harry and Hagrid roll over in the fray, zipping down through the clouds and out of sight. A score of Death Eaters soared down after it, and Rane saw none of their companions notice, lost in the fighting already -

"FOLLOW THEM!" Wade bellowed, but Rane needed no instruction in this; she was already steering the thestral towards the diminishing form of the bike, tailed closely by several forms on broomstick brandishing wands, green and red light shooting hither and yon around them. She kicked the thestral's side impatiently.

" _Lintieryanen,_ LINTIERYANEN!" she cried, lapsing into Elvish commands in her alarm without even realizing it, but the thestral responded to it nonetheless, its vast black wings flapping faster as they flew after Harry and Hagrid. They plunged down through the clouds like a bullet, both Rane and Wade crouched against the thestral's lean back, Wade shooting spells towards the attackers. One struck its mark, sending a Death Eater careening off his broomstick and to the earth below.

"REDUCTO!" Rane screamed, pulling her wand and aiming it in one swift motion, and another Death Eater flew from his mount, shrieking as he fell into darkness. Ahead she could see Harry and Hagrid through the clouds, but dimly - they were fast, cursedly fast -

" _Fuck_! I can't catch up to them!" she shouted, kicking the thestral desperately. The creature labored beneath them, its wings flapping hard, but Rane could feel the rigorous motion of its heaving breath and its trembling muscles; it was nearing its threshold. "God DAMMIT -!"

"Forget it, just mind their tails, mind their tails!" Wade shouted from behind them. "they can't go any faster, so let's just -!"

Up ahead, the bike abruptly belched a large quantity of fire, and its speed increased tenfold in an instant, leaving even the broom-born Death Eaters in the dust. Rane cursed vehemently.

"Follow them!" Wade shouted. "They're not after us, they're after Harry, so follow them! Forget about catching up, we'll never -!"

"PROTEGO!" Rane screamed, and a Stunning spell flew away from them with a sound like breaking glass. She felt Wade duck instinctively behind her, his grip on her waist tensing.

"Dad, they're sitting ducks," she gasped, glancing over her shoulder. Far above, she could see the flashes of spells and hear the faint screams of their friends. Her heart lurched in fright for Remus and the rest of them. "Hermione and Ron, they're barely seventeen, we have to go back and -!"

"No, no, forget it," Wade said from behind her. She wasn't fooled by his cool façade; she could tell he was as panicked as she was, and as unsuspecting of this sudden barrage. All around them was chaos. "Follow the plan. Just follow the plan, Rane, we protect Harry."

Rane steered the thestral further into the dark, heart racing, following the now distant flurry of flame that signified Harry and Hagrid, far below.


	42. The Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order arrive at the safehouse with Harry in tow

Rane and Wade plunged on through screaming darkness for what seemed like ages, and suddenly beneath them Rane heard a metallic crash, followed by a splash and a cry of pain. She could see nothing for the clouds surrounding the thestral astride which they sat, but beneath them - far beneath - she saw the flare of orange and yellow that meant fire. Hagrid and Harry had almost certainly crashed. The Death Eaters around them had vanished, either by their own devices or because they had come too near to the protective spells surrounding the Burrow. Rane knew they were close, had to be, though it seemed that they had only left Privet Drive moments ago; without any landmarks, however, there was no way to tell, and now, winding through the bright red haze of her anger was a cold yellow thread of fear for Harry. That was a big motorcycle they'd been on, and that had been a pretty big flame below, too, and a long, _long_ way to fall . . .

Rane made a high-pitched, inarticulate sound of exasperation, veering the exhausted thestral around in a wide circle, her head craning over its muscular shoulder toward the misty haze underneath it.

"Where the fuck ARE WE?!" she screamed, almost undone by her own frustration. Her knuckles were white against the drawn-taut bridle in her hands. "I can't see SHIT through these GOD DAMN CLOUDS -!"

"Let up," said Wade, and reaching around her he rapped lightly against her left fist, which was clenched implacably. "Let up on her, you're gonna hurt her."

Rane glanced down at her hands, surprised to see the leather reigns wadded into them and the thestral's slender head drawn back almost to its bony chest, its fanged mouth yawping against the tension as it gasped for breath, exhausted. She loosened her grip at once.

"Sorry," she muttered, feeling a sting of shame. The thestral was shaking its head in relief, its tongue lolling. "I didn't -"

"Just calm down," Wade told her, his voice gentle and reassuring in her ear, "and we're gonna go down there and see what's what. Got me?"

Rane gesticulated at the mist beneath them. "That explosion -"

"Steer her on down and pull yourself together," Wade interrupted her, his voice relaxed but firm. "We're gonna check on them, but first you need to get your shit together. Could be a whole host of Death Eaters down there, who the hell knows. Take a breath and quit letting your temper drive for a second, please."

Rane felt a heated rejoinder rise in her throat, but she forced herself to think of Harry before it could pass her lips; while she was up here having a tantrum about the cloud cover, he could be down there dying, and Hagrid with him, like as not; he didn't even have a wand to defend himself with, and she doubted his pink umbrella would do him much good against a rash of Voldemort's lackeys. She did a quick inventory of her herself and then did as he asked, sucking in a lungful of cold, humid air and trying to ignore her pounding heart and the roiling aggravation within her belly. She released it slowly, hearing the way it shuddered on the way out.

"Alright, now take her on down," Wade told her, still using the same solicitous tone. "Nice and easy."

She guided the thestral toward the ground, using a methodically gentler hand now, and as they glided down the clouds began to disperse around them. It took only a moment for Rane to reclaim her bearings; they were indeed just over the Burrow, some distance from the building itself. Below them was the vast holding that surrounded the Weasleys' home - rippling moorland smattered with a few stunted trees and a quantity of slow-moving arroyos that wound through the earth with sinewy grace, glittering like dark arteries. Rane spotted the wreckage of Sirius's old motorcycle at once, visible as a flickering spot of orange light below them. She felt Wade tense behind her.

"Is that -?"

"Hagrid, yeah," Rane muttered. The sprawled, massive figure, not far from the fire, was unmistakable and motionless, discernable as a flattened, man-shaped segment of tall grass. "I don't see Harry, though . . ."

"There!" Wade said sharply, pointing. His eyes were still better than Rane's; it took her a moment to spot Harry, hardly perceptible as a human at all but only a black speck near a broad place in the stream near the wreck, moving sluggishly. Rane had the impression that he was on his hands and knees.

"Go! GO!" Wade said sharply, and Rane veered the thestral down toward the debris hastily, its leathery black wings folding around them, encapsulating the two of them in the rushing air around them.

The thestral landed rather roughly, stumbling at first before gaining its footing. Rane and Wade both slipped off, and Rane cast a rather guilty glance backwards at the creature; its wings weren't folding elegantly against its body as thestrals were wont to do after lighting on their mark, but had remained unfurled and were strewn with abandon on the grass. Even as she looked, the beast began to lower itself to the ground in clear exhaustion, its limbs trembling, both long ears flattened to its slender skull.

Rane couldn't afford to waste her distress on their mount, however; as she and Wade half-ran towards the burning wreckage of Sirius's old bike, she could pick out Hagrid's form in the grass, quite motionless, and Harry's as well. He was stumbling out of the tall grass, his face covered in blood, his wand still gripped in one hand. The smell of gasoline and smoke was strong around them. She saw her father veer off, sensing where she was heading, and aim his own wand at the blaze, sending a jetty of water at it.

"Harry!" she said, breaking into a run. " _Harry_!"

Harry was looking towards Hagrid, and though she could see his mouth moving, his words were too soft to hear. He began to collapse, and she tripped forward and caught him mid-fall, sweeping him into her arms, his wand falling from his relaxing fingers. She placed two fingers on his throat and felt a steady pulse, and a sweeping relief swept over her; hurt, then, but not dead. That was something, anyways . . .

"How's Hagrid?"

Wade, who had rushed to Hagrid's side as soon as the fire was extinguished, glanced up from where he was kneeling by the side of the massive form of their friend, looking almost absurdly miniscule. "He's alive," he replied. "Stunned, is all. Get Harry indoors, I'm right behind you."

"Grab his wand, would you?" she shouted to Wade, who nodded to her. "I'm taking him up to the Burrow."

The distance between the wreck and the Burrow seemed endless, though it couldn't have been more than a quarter of a mile; the boggy undergrowth made for tough going, and by the time Rane had passed into the grassy clearing that passed for a dooryard, scattering clucking chickens from her path, she had begun to bless her decision to don shorts and boots; she was breathing harshly and a sheen of sweat had begun to sparkle on her hairline. The door to the burrow banged open, sending a rectangle of bright light onto the dark moor, and Ginny and Molly Weasley came running outside, their shadows long before them.

"Rane! Wade! What on _earth_ -?"

"They're both hurt, but they're gonna be fine," Wade said loudly. He was running behind Rane some ways, Hagrid's limp form floating before him, Hulk-like. "We just need to get them inside."

"Is Harry okay?" Ginny asked, looking harried. She grasped Harry's limp face in both her hands, her face pale, and stared up at Rane with a fierce expression. "Is Harry okay, Rane?"

Rane held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. "He's gonna be fine, just like Hagrid."

"Where is everyone else?" Molly asked sharply as Rane and Wade strode inside, both bearing their own injured parties, their bootheels thundering on the wood floor.

"Isn't anyone back yet?" Rane asked her as Wade lowered Hagrid to the sofa, his weight causing it to sink and creak alarmingly. She set Harry down on the couch near the fire, and Ginny was knelt at his side in a moment.

Molly was looking between her and Wade, her face long.

"Molly?" Wade said, straightening.

Molly began to shake her head. "No, just you."

Wade stared at her for a moment, then turned back to Hagrid, placing a hand on his forehead and murmuring something softly in Elvish. After a moment, Hagrid spluttered and sat up in a rush, causing the sofa beneath him to give an alarming groan.

"Blimey!" he said, looking around him in alarm. "Wha' -?"

"RENNERVATE!" Ginny suddenly shouted, and both Molly and Rane spun around. Harry's eyes had also flown open, and he sat up and began to cough hoarsely.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Ginny!" Rane remarked, impressed in spite of herself.

Harry sat up as well, staring around him in clear bewilderment. His eyes lit on Hagrid.

"Hagrid, are you alright?"

"Blimey," Hagrid replied, massaging his neck, "I think so . . . Are you alrigh', Harry?"

"Am I?" Harry asked blankly, looking up at Rane.

"You're fine," said Rane, sitting beside him. "What happened to you guys? We found you both halfway knocked stupid and Sirius's bike on fire . . . "

Harry blinked, seeming to collect himself.

"The Death Eaters were waiting for us," Harry told her. "We were surrounded the moment we took off, they knew it was tonight . . . I don't know what happened to anyone else, four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort caught up with us . . . "

Rane glanced at Wade, whose face was pale.

"Is anyone else back?" Harry asked, unknowingly echoing Rane. She shook her head, and Harry cast a guilty glance at Molly, who was as pallid as her father.

"Well - well, thank goodness you're all right," she said, pulling him into a hug.

"Haven't go' any brandy, have yeh, Molly?" asked Hagrid a little shakily. "Fer medicinal purposes?"

"Seconded," Rane agreed, lifting one hand.

Molly probably could have summoned the liquor, but she strode out of the livingroom nonetheless, her mouth turned down. Rane couldn't begin to imagine the sort of anxiety she must be feeling - a husband, four sons and a soon to be daughter-in-law all unaccounted for.

"Were there very many of them?" Ginny asked, looking between Wade and Rane, clearly feeling the same apprehension for her family that her mother was. "Death Eaters, I mean?"

Rane glanced at her father uncertainly, hesitant.

"Thirty, maybe more," Wade said, never one for garnishing the truth. "Two for our each, funny enough."

Molly reappeared, two glasses of brandy and an uncorked bottle floating before her in the gloom. Rane snatched a glass out of the air with a word of thanks, throwing it down with a grimace; Hagrid, however, eschewed the glass and instead snagged the bottle, tossing it back with abandon.

"That still doesn't explain how they knew about the time change, though," Harry said, glancing around.

"Is it so hard to understand?" said Rane, looking at him over her empty glass.

"Yeh don' . . . yer not sayin' one of us _tol_ ' 'em, are yeh?" Hagrid remarked.

Before Rane had a chance to reply, the livingroom filled with a bright blue light, and suddenly Remus and George appeared with a loud pop. Remus was okay, banged up but on both feet; George, however -

"Oh, George!" Molly shrieked, her hands flying to her collarbone. "My _boy_ -!"

" _Jesus_!" Wade said loudly, rushing forward to help support the limp form of George. One side of his head was bright red and glistening with blood, and the collar of his shirt was soaked in it. "Get him to the sofa, come on -"

Together, he and Remus hauled George laboriously to the couch that Harry had just vacated. Molly was kneeling beside him in an instant, fretting over his weakly stirring form, but Rane caught a glimpse of the side of his head in the lowlight nonetheless; one of his ears was gone, replaced by a gaping red-black hole in the side of his head. His red hair was matted with it.

"Whoa, WHOA!" Wade said loudly, and Rane spun on her heel, disarmed by the shock in his voice. She was alarmed to see Remus dragging Harry by the scruff of his neck and slamming him roughly against the far wall, rattling the clock on the wall alarmingly.

" _Remus_!" she said loudly, fumbling for her wand and sticking her hand into the wrong pocket in her startled rush. "Remus, what the _hell_ -?!"

But Remus ignored them both; his wand was aimed at Harry's throat, and his face was set and harsh.

""What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at Hogwarts?" he said, giving Harry a small shake.

"OI!" Hagrid bellowed, and from behind her Rane could hear the alarming crunching and creaking of the sofa as he presumably tried for his feet. "LET UP OFF OF 'IM -!"

Remus ignored him. " _Answer_ _me_!"

Harry was hunched against the wall, spluttering, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "It was a grindylow, a _grindylow_!"

Lupin released Harry and fell back against a kitchen cupboard. Wade, whose wand was drawn, grabbed at Remus's shirt collar and yanked him backwards forcefully, his face dismayed.

"Have you lost a goddam _screw_?" he said loudly.

"Wha' was tha' about?" roared Hagrid.

"I had to be sure," said Remus, pocketing his wand and flopping down onto the sofa. "We've been betrayed. The only ones who knew Harry was being moved tonight were those who were directly involved. He could have been an imposter."

"So why aren' yeh checkin' me?" Hagrid asked loudly.

"Polyjuice only works on humans," said Remus, getting to his feet and glancing at Hagrid, looking exhausted. "It wouldn't work on you, nor Rane and Wade."

Wade glared at him for a moment more, then thrust his wand back into his pocket, muttering a curse under his breath. "What happened to George?"

Remus glanced over at George's form on the sofa, where Molly was bent over him, stroking his hair gently, her eyes bright with tears.

"He'll be alright," Remus said, and sighed. "There's no chance of replacing his ear, though, not with it having been Cursed off -"

There was the unmistakable _fwip_ of someone - or several someones - Apparating just outside the door, and Remus turned swiftly without another word and dashed for the entrance his wand in his hand. Rane and Harry both strode after him, Harry leaping over Hagrid's legs. Outside, striding across the moor towards them, were Hermione Granger - now returning to her usual appearance, though a pair of round glasses were still perched on her nose - and Kingsley Shacklebolt, both of them looking harried and pale but unharmed. Kingsley had raised his wand towards Remus before Remus could act.

"The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us?" he growled.

"'Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him,'" said Remus. "Harry's fine, I've just checked -"

Kingsley turned his wand towards Rane, who took a step backwards, raising her empty hands before her face.

"You," he said roughly, "tell me where we met."

"I was taking the Auror exam," Rane said at once, not daring to hesitate. "I asked you if it was hard, and you told said only if I was an idiot like my dad."

" _What_?" said Wade from the foyer, sounding affronted.

Kingsley lowered his wand, pocketing it. "Who else is back?"

"Rane, Wade, Harry, Hagrid, George and myself so far," said Remus. Hermione had darted forward and strung her arms around Harry, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Someone betrayed us," Kingsley said roughly. "They knew it was tonight, they knew we changed it -!"

"So it would seem," Remus agreed.

"Where are the rest of them?" said Harry, staring towards the starry sky.

Rane glanced at him, then exchanged a worried look with Remus and Kingsley.

"They'll be here," she murmured, hoping she was right.

ARTHUR and Fred were the next to arrive, unhurt but both far too preoccupied with George's injury to bother humoring Kingsley's attempts at discerning their identities. Rane, for her own part, had never seen Arthur in such a state; all traces of his usual mild-mannered nature had departed him as he bypassed Kingsley's outstretched wand with hardly a glance, his face pale and tight. She stepped aside as he barreled by, Fred close at his heel, and she heard Molly's cries of gladness from inside the Burrow as he entered.

That left six of them, then. Wade had remained inside, where it sounded like he was speaking to Arthur in a low voice, but Rane, Harry, Hermione, Remus and Kingsley stayed where they were in the humid, their eyes on the empty sky above them. Kingsley, his duty with the muggle Minister, excused himself after a few minutes and Disapparated at the end of the grounds with a soft _pop_. After what seemed like an eternity, a broom materialized above them, and then Tonks and Ron were skidding to a halt in the yard, throwing rocks and dirt up in their wake. Hermione had set upon Ron like a cat, squeaking in relief. Remus, meanwhile, had brushed past them and strode to Tonks, holding her by the shoulders, his eyes roving up and down her as if unable to grasp that she was truly stood there before him.

Rane watched them from across the yard, her arms folded across her chest, her head turned over one shoulder. Remus spoke to Tonks in a low voice, then pressed his mouth into hers, his face pale and relieved. Rane felt the same dark, entreating gloom at the sight of them which she had begun to experience so frequently lately. Sirius had touched her like that, had kissed her like that, and even now, in the midst of all this chaos, the thought of him wouldn't leave her. He seemed so close lately.

"What kept you?" Remus was asking Tonks, sounding almost angry. "What happened?"

"Bellatrix," Tonks said, and Rane's head turned sharply towards her. "She's _angry_ , Remus, I can't understand why, though - she tried very hard to kill me -"

"She called you by Rane's name," Ron told her from around Hermione's bushy head. "Didn't you hear?"

Rane experienced a sort of narrowing of her vision. Both her hands had clenched into fists where they were folded before her chest; later, she would note eight crescent-shaped indentations in the flesh of her palms where her fingernails had dug into the skin.

"She called Tonks by _my_ name?" she shot at Ron, sounding much harsher than she'd intended. Ron and Hermione both shrank slightly at her tone. "Is that what you said?"

"Yeah," Ron said, nodding and sounding somewhat diminished. "While she was flying by. Maybe she thought Tonks was you, I dunno."

Rane exchanged a glance with Tonks, who shrugged.

"Rane, if she did I didn't hear her," Tonks said.

"And it hardly matters right now," Remus put in, watching Rane warily. "Rane, we need to focus on the mission now. We can worry about that woman later."

Rane was spared the burden of an answer, in any case, and perhaps that was a blessing, because at that instant she wasn't sure what she would have said. Her temper was brimming suddenly, something like the foam at the top of a freshly poured beer; the hatred she'd fostered for Bellatrix was so potent and intoxicating that it was almost sweet, and Rane wanted to trip on it. Part of her - and not a small part, either - was fully prepared to hop onto a broom and go after her then and there, and to hell with the consequences. Let the rest of it burn, for all she cared; the idea of taking her vengeance on the woman who had murdered Sirius was far too alluring. Despite her words to Harry, who had stopped just short of asking her full-out to go after Bellatrix, the thought of payback was frequently on her mind.

However, at that moment a thestral emerged from the darkness, bearing Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour on its back. Fleur had returned to her usual gorgeous shape, and as they lit upon the ground, Arthur, who had been peering outside with increasing frequency, came running out to greet them, his face slack with relief, and threw his arms around his son. Rane strode forward and hugged Fleur in spite of herself, so terrific was her relief at seeing them alive.

"Are you okay?" she asked, taking Fleur by the shoulders. "Are you guys both okay?"

Fleur glanced over at her fiance, her expression troubled. Rane released her and followed her gaze. Bill was releasing his father in much the same fashion, his face sallow.

"Mad-Eye's dead," he said quietly.

Rane was aware that most of those who had been inside the Burrow had ventured outside, drawn by the fray, and a hush had fallen over them all. Tonks, who was still enveloped in Remus's arms, gave a brief, hollow gasp, as if someone had punched her in the gut.

" _What_?" said Wade, close at Rane's elbow. He had manifested as if out of thin air, and his pale face was turned towards Bill's. " _What_ about Mad-Eye?"

Bill did not repeat himself; much like Rane herself, he seemed to understand that Wade's request for reiteration did not mean he had misunderstood. The thestral they'd ridden in on had sought out the slow-moving stream close at hand and dipped its long snout into the cool water, clearly done in.

"What happened to him, Bill?" Rane asked quietly, feeling queerly numb.

Bill shook his head, running his arm across his face. "Dung Disapparated when he saw Voldemort, and it was just Mad-Eye . . . He was Cursed, it hit him right in the face, and he fell off his broom - there was nothing we could do . . . "

Bill's voice broke.

"Of course you couldn't have done anything," said Lupin, but he sounded shaken.

"Jesus," said Wade softly, and he fell awkwardly against the fence, one hand on his forehead. "Jesus, Mad-Eye. Goddam, if that doesn't just put a pin in it."

Rane grasped Tonks's shoulder gently. Tonks had buried her face in one of her long sleeves and was weeping quietly. She had been closest with him, of course.

A moment of silence fell amongst them, in which the sound of the crickets were startlingly loud. It slowly dawned on them that there was no point standing outside waiting any longer, and they all filed into the Burrow slowly, silent as a funeral concession. Rane supposed they were one, in a way; there would be no body to bury, certainly not, unless one of them was willing to fly over the miles they'd crossed to ensure Harry's safe passage, and she could think of no reason to take such a risk.

"We have to go get him," Tonks said, as if reading her mind.

"What would he have said, if we suggested that?" Wade asked her, his voice oddly tender. He had been close to Mad-Eye too, Rane knew, for far longer than she'd been alive. "He'd have told us that it was foolhardy, Tonks. You know he would have."

Tonks hung her head, her eyes glittering in the low light, saying nothing. Rane sat heavily into the armchair near the door, her hands dangling between her knees, staring at the floor. There had been many deaths in the months since Voldemort had returned, but this was the first that had hit so close to home - Mad-Eye, whose mistrustful candor had given their Order meetings a certain seasoning that many of them had taken as useful but faintly amusing. Mad-Eye, with his grim sneer and suspicious reflections and his decades-long history of scaring the living Christ out of dark wizards. Mad-Eye fucking Moody.

Bill had strode to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey and a handful of glasses. He lined them up on the counter and poured, not using magic; after a moment, he grasped them by the rims and distributed them amongst the silent, somber patrons of the Burrow. He lifted his own towards the ceiling.

"Mad-Eye," he muttered.

"Mad-Eye," came the reply, and everyone drank to him.

There was a period of silence, in which Hagrid hiccupped, looking sullen.

"So Dung disappeared," said Remus at length, sounding solemn.

"No," said Wade at once, shaking his head. Rane noted the redness of his eyes and felt another grim jolt of dismay. That made it twice in the same week that she'd seen him cry. The world seemed to be upturning in more ways than one. "No, it wasn't him. Couldn't have been."

"Why not?" said Fred roughly. He was still knelt by the sofa where George was supine, his head gleaming but no longer bleeding actively.

"Because he suggested the idea in the first place," Bill agreed. "Voldemort went right for him. He panicked, that was all."

Wade was nodding, peering into his glass of firewhiskey pensively. He alone had not polished his off.

"Yes, and zat eez all very good," snapped Fleur, "but still eet does not explain 'ow zey knew we were moving 'Arry tonight, does eet? Somebody must 'ave been careless. Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. It is ze only explanation for zem knowing ze date but not ze 'ole plan -"

"No," Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised. "I mean . . . if somebody made a mistake," Harry went on, "and let something slip, I know they didn't mean to do it. It's not their fault," he repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken. "We've got to trust each other. I trust all of you, I don't think anyone in this

room would ever sell me to Voldemort."

Rane strode to him and threw an arm around his shoulders, planting a kiss on his cheek, almost helpless to restrain herself.

"We can talk about this tomorrow morning," she said quietly, glancing around her at the somber faces. She saw Wade open his mouth to protest - perhaps to beleaguer the issue of a mole - and silently dared him to protest. He was silent in the wake of her glare. "Mad-Eye's dead and we need to sleep. Can we agree on that, at least?"

Molly glanced at the clock on her wall. "Yes, it's late," she muttered, getting to her feet. "George needs rest, and so do the lot of you."


	43. Horcruxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane accosts the trio about their plans in lieu of Hogwarts

Besides devastating morale, Mad-Eye Mood's death had presented an interesting problem for the Order. He'd been the prime Secret-Keeper for the location of headquarters; now that he was gone, the burden of the Fidelius Charm passed onto the twenty-odd individuals that made up the remainder of the Order of the Phoenix. With the location of Sirius's old place so diffuse it was an undeniable risk to spend time there. Rane was loath to leave headquarters - indeed, she had been loath to leave even after Albus, when the burden had passed onto Mad-Eye to begin with - and she had made no secret of it.

Now, however, things had gone quite beyond any diffident excuse she might have been able to tender. With the number of Secret-Keepers grown to better than a long dozen and a shill in their midst, it was just too dangerous. If Rane had been alone, she might have wagered it - probably would have, in fact - but not with Idril, who would make an exceptional bargaining chip in the right situation. The point had been brought up to her at once the very night Mad-Eye had died, and of course the one to do it had to be her father, always the first to chide his willful daughter where few others would.

"You can't stay there, Rane."

They were still standing around the sofa in the Burrow, just hours after Mad-Eye's demise; Hagrid was snoring on the sofa, and most of the younger ones - Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred and of course the injured but ambulatory George - had been ushered upstairs by Molly for bed. Rane was staring out the window at the shadowed moor, her arms folded before her chest, her long dark hair falling in strings out of the knot she'd made at the start of the evening. Wade's face was set and pale, and he looked frightened and sad.

Rane turned to him, startled out of a reverie. "Hmm?"

"You heard me."

Rane turned slowly towards him, unfolding her arms. "I can't stay where? At Grimmauld Place?"

"It's way too dangerous. I know you like it there, and it was one thing after Albus, but you need to take Idril and go somewhere safe."

"Like where?" Rane asked, vaguely truculent. "Where do you propose we go?"

Wade shook his head. "Maybe your apartment, I dunno. Anywhere."

"My apartment's gone," said Rane. She had let her old, ratty flat in London go back to Gringott's not a month prior; she had visited it perhaps thrice in the year between her induction into the Order and Sirius's death. Her few worldly belongings lived with her now in Sirius's old room.

"Gone? What do you mean, _gone_?"

"I let it go back to the bank."

" _Why_?" said Wade, sounding almost frantic.

"Because it was pretty much a storage unit," Rane replied, feeling a touch of defensiveness. "And it was a shithole. Why would I keep paying for it?"

Wade snorted scornfully, looking blackly amused. "Please, Rane, you're as rich as Croesus."

This was a fair point, though Rane was reluctant as hell to admit it. She salted away nearly all of what she made at the Ministry, and though she spent the odd evening after work having a drink or two at the pub and funded Idril's ever-growing need for clothes and diapers, her spending habits bordered on nil. On top of this Sirius had left her and Idril a little better than half of his savings, which had tripled Rane's own Gringotts account effortlessly.

"Don't say that," Rane murmured, glancing at Molly and Arthur guiltily. "That's ridiculous, I'm not -"

"You're not gonna try to tell me you let that place go because you couldn't afford it, now, _come_ on -"

"Are you going to suggest they wouldn't have found my address by now anyways?" Rane shot at him, switching gears. "I work for the Ministry of Magic, for Christ's sake - !"

"Oh, never _mind_!" Wade said sharply. "You can't stay at Grimmauld Place, Rane. You just can't. There are better than twenty of us and a stool pigeon to boot, and Snape to contend with, too, and you _know_ how this Charm works -"

"I'm fine where I am," Rane snapped.

"It's been over a year -"

"- _no_ , dad -"

"- over a _year_ , Rane - !"

"- it doesn't _matter_ -!"

Wade strode forward and placed both hands on his daughter's shoulders then, looking at her with a sudden, harsh expression that stopped just short of despair. His lower lip was trembling and there were tears standing in his eyes; he looked desperate and afraid, all traces of his usual brass and impudence gone. It was as unnerving as watching him break down in Ylle Thalas. Rane froze before him, staring in dismay, her dark brows knit above her eyes.

"Rane, Sirius is _dead_ ," said Wade, and shook her gently. His words were loud in the sudden silence. "He's _not coming back_ , not if you live in his house until you're as old as Methuselah."

"Stop." Rane tried to break from his grasp, glaring at him from beneath his brows with growing anger, but his grasp was strong. "I don't want to hear this."

"You _will_ hear this. _Nothing_ is going to bring him back, certainly not smashing your face into his old robes every night trying to catch a little taste of how it was when he was still around -"

"Let go of me," Rane whispered, and tried insipidly to shake him off, her own eyes filling with tears. In that moment she hated him, purely and without sanction. "Shut up and let _go_ _-_ "

But Wade would not. "He'll be just as dead then as he is now, and if he knew you were risking his daughter's life to lie in the same bed he did once because you can't let him go? If he knew the girl he loved was rolling around in his old things like a junkie lapping up her own spew to get high? Well, I believe he'd be sick to his stomach."

The entire room had gone very quiet; all eyes were on the pair of them, daring not utter a word. Wade released Rane gently; she remained where she was, her face deadly white, staring at him in silent horror.

"You hear me, and hear me very well," said Wade, meeting her gaze, "you're acting like a goddamned fool, and I won't watch my daughter and my granddaughter both go to seed over such a stupid goddam thing as this."

"You don't know," said Rane faintly, shaking her head, her eyes full of vitriol. "You don't have any _idea_ -"

"Go get Idril and come back here," said Wade, ignoring her. "I'm sure Molly won't mind. Molly, do you mind?"

Everyone turned to Molly, who shook her head at once, looking both frightened and distraught. Wade turned back to Rane once more, his eyes still overbright.

"My friend is dead, and I'm tired," he said. "Go on, now. Do as I say."

And with that he had strode from the house, banging the front door open. A moment later they all heard the _thwip_ that meant he had Disapparated. Rane had remained where she was for a moment, unable to will her legs to move, her face and neck flushed in her humiliation and shock; her eyes were brimming, and there was a hitch in her breath that jolted in her throat with a regular cadence, giving every shaky inhale a puerile quality that she didn't like. An hour later, she was back at the Burrow with Idril and a small knapsack of their things.

Molly offered a bed to everyone there that evening, but only Rane accepted; those who had declined had others with whom they would retire, of course, and it could not be denied. Bill had Fleur; Remus had Tonks. Even Wade, who hadn't so much as accepted a drink date since his partition from Rane's mother some twenty years prior, had an entire Elven host to return to. Only Rane was alone, save Idril, who it seemed was content enough to flit from backdrop to backdrop without much protestation. In time that might change - almost certainly would - but for now, as the daughter of an Auror and a dead man, it was just a fact of life.

"Are you quite certain you've nowhere to be?" Molly asked her anxiously, once she'd returned with Idril in her arms, sleeping as usual. She slept so frequently lately, something Rane would have to eventually address. "The Elves don't need you, or Wade or -?"

"If it's too much trouble, Molly, we can find somewhere else."

Rane was astonished at the spite in her voice, and she hated herself for it; it was as impulsive as a sneeze, almost entirely out of her control. Molly recoiled a little, looking at her the way someone might look at a trusted family pet who has suddenly bitten.

"No, no, never think such a thing, dear," Molly told her, reclaiming her composure with hardly a pause, "you'll stay, of course, the both of you, I'll not hear a word against it."

"I'm sorry," said Rane, and realized with alarm that an onslaught of tears was very close. Her own father's harsh words had not quite been enough to spill them from her eyes, nor had the evocation of Sirius's death, but Molly's kindness had hit that hidden mark with homicidal ease. "It's just been a bad night."

Molly reached out and patted her cheek gently, and the tenderness there threatened to undo Rane altogether. She pressed her lips together tightly, her brows knit.

"I know it has, dear," Molly said quietly. She grasped Rane's face in her hands and planted a kiss on one cheek, standing on tiptoe to reach. "Off to bed with you both."

Rane nodded, not quite trusting herself to maintain her composure if she tried to speak; Molly turned and strode off without another word, however, presumably to check on her injured son and then join her husband.

SHE and Idril remained at the Burrow for the next several days; it seemed reasonable enough, because Bill and Fleur were set to be wed only a few days hence, and furthermore, Wade was right - it wouldn't do to risk another night at Grimmauld Place just yet, especially with her daughter in tow.

In all actuality, though, Rane found herself settling in rather nicely. Though Mad-Eye's death hung over them all like a pall, she was staying busy with both work and with the preparations for the wedding; in addition, Harry, Hermione and Ron were constantly near at hand, and Idril had a great deal more room outdoors to toddle around and enjoy the waning summer. She'd discovered the small colony of garden gnomes out back quickly and set herself upon them like Godzilla, chasing them and giggling in delight for much of the afternoons before tiring and toddling her way into the livingroom for a siesta, usually with a contentedly purring Crookshanks curled beneath one small, chubby arm. Like most animals did, Hermione's fluffy orange cat had taken an instant liking to Idril, despite her propensity for yanking on ears and tails, and the pair of them were seen frequently together.

Bill and Remus had set about to try and find Mad-Eye's body the morning after his death, but as Rane had rather suspected, neither of them had any luck.

"You may as well give it up," Rane told Remus as she sat at the breakfast table one morning, pushing a plate of scrambled eggs around without much interest. She was clad in a pair of jeans and a close black tank, despite the growing chill, and her hair was braided haphazardly over one shoulder (Ginny's work - Idril, whose own hair had nearly reached her shoulders and had proven to be as thick, black and straight as her father's, was subjected to frequent braiding as well, though this morning Molly had tied it into a pair of high ponytails that stuck off in different directions with comical charm). "May as well be looking for D.B. Cooper, it'd come to the same."

Remus, who had taken guard duty the night before, sighed over his coffee, looking tired and haggard. "You're probably right."

"Well, what if he survived the fall?" said Ron hopefully. "I mean, it's Mad-Eye we're talking about, he's dead clever . . ."

"Clever!" Idril cried, as merry as ever. Then, spotting Ron's grim expression, she knitted her brows and scowled in a rather hilarious imitation of him. " _Clever_ ," she repeated in a low falsetto. George, who was sitting next to her, eating toast and scratching restively at the bandage on his head, snorted.

"Stop _bothering_ with it!" Molly snapped at him. "Honestly, George . . . "

"Itches, doesn't it? Blimey, mum . . ."

"Look, even if he had survived that fall," Rane told Ron, brandishing her fork at him and chewing egg without much relish, " _think_ about it, Ron. He'd have broken every bone in his body. Only way you could make it out of that is if you were Steve Rogers or something . . ."

"Alright, if you _want_ him to be dead," Ron muttered crossly.

"She's quite right, I'm afraid," Remus said, sounding morose. "It's a pipe dream, finding him alive, Ron, as much as we'd all like to. And really a bit of one finding his body, too, at this point."

"The Death Eaters will have picked up after themselves," Bill murmured grimly. "I doubt they'd leave much for us. They hated him."

Harry set his fork down abruptly and stood. "Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Weasley," he said. "I'm off to . . . "

He didn't finish his sentence about where he was off to, however, instead simply shoving his chair in and striding off, his head down. Hermione and Ron, both of whom had turned their heads at his exit, were glancing at each other worriedly. Rane got up as well, striding off after him.

After ascending the stairway, Harry had vanished into the room that he shared with Ron. Rane leaned into the doorway and watched him for a moment, her arms folded. There were stacks of books along the floor, and though not all of the titles were facing the doorway, Rane could read several of them easily enough: _Hogwarts, A History. Numerology and Grammatica. The Rise and Fall of Dark Arts._ And nearby, trembling slightly and emitting a low growl from beneath the tightly bound belt drawn taut around its cover, _The Monster Book of Monsters_. Though the room bore the typical markers of a couple of teenage boys - half-eaten plates of food on the armoire, dirty socks on the floor, unmade beds - there was a certain organization to the chaos that Rane recognized well from her many journeys abroad during her career as an Auror. They were preparing to go somewhere, probably somewhere much farther than Hogwarts.

"Planning a trip?" asked Rane, still leaning against the doorjamb, fingering her long braid over one shoulder. Harry jumped as if goosed, whirling around guiltily.

"What?" he said. "Trip? No, why do you -?"

"Why do I ask?" Rane walked inside and popped a squat on Ron's bed. She nodded towards the stack of books, looking bemused. "I'm sure things have changed at Hogwarts in nine or ten years, but I don't remember seeing any of those on the syllabus in _my_ Seventh Year."

Harry said nothing; she could feel him casting about for an excuse, but before he could manage one, Ron and Hermione came skidding into the bedroom, looking between Rane and Harry in clear alarm.

"Rane!" Ron said, and bending began to scoop up the piles of clothes at the foot of his bed hastily. "Sorry, it's a bit messy - we've just been -"

"Yes, these are just -" Hermione was kneeling by the books, clearly trying to obscure the titles as she rearranged them. "These are mine, I must have forgotten -"

Rane waved a hand and the door behind them shut with a gentle snick. "Sit down," she muttered, gesturing to the three of them. "I'm not mad and I'm not a narc." Then, when they continued to watch her with mistrust: "Please. I come as a friend."

Hermione and Ron cast a guilty glance at Harry, then lowered themselves to the beds. Harry cast an anxious glance towards the door; Rane, seeing his expression, pulled her wand and waved it absently towards the entrance.

"It's Imperturbed now," she informed him. Then, with a rather decorous nod, added, "you may speak freely."

Harry snorted, clearly in spite of himself. "Look, whatever you think, Rane -"

"What I think is all three of y'all are fixing to split, I mean you guys spend all the time you get alone running off together -"

"Yeah, when mum hasn't got us rolling silverware," Ron muttered. Harry chucked a sock at his head.

" _Shut up_ , Ron!" Hermione moaned.

"I'm an Auror, it's my job to figure shit out," Rane went on as if they hadn't spoken. She gestured at Harry. "I already knew _you_ weren't planning on going back to Hogwarts, and if I was prepared to believe that either of these guys was about to let you go sashaying off to who knows where without them, well then I really _would_ be an idiot, wouldn't I?"

Hermione, Ron and Harry remained where they were, motionless, saying nothing. Rane folded her legs beneath her Indian-style, clasping her hands on her lap, and leaning forward eyed the three of them.

"So when are you leaving?" she asked frankly.

Harry sighed long-suffering, as if he'd been through this many times before. "We can't tell you what we're doing, Rane."

"Well lucky me, I didn't ask." Rane folded her arms. "I know this is Albus, whatever's going on, and I'm sure he had his reasons for keeping it from the Order. I asked _when_. I'd ask where too, if I thought you'd give me a straight answer, but . . . " She flashed them a grin. "I think I know better."

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron and Hermione.

"I think you ought to tell her, Harry," said Hermione, low.

"Dumbledore said no!" Ron snapped.

"Yes, but . . . " Hermione glanced at Rane. "It doesn't feel quite the same, somehow -"

"The same as _what_? Mum and dad? McGonagall?"

"Well, yes!"

"She'll go right to Lupin and the rest of them!" Ron hissed, keeping his voice amusingly low, as if Rane wasn't sitting four feet away from him. "What if Wade finds out, he'll never -!"

"She won't tell him!" Harry said. "Will you?"

"It's her dad, of course she'll tell him!" said Ron harshly.

"Will you?" Hermione asked Rane. Rane shook her head.

"Well, how can you know we can trust her not to?" Ron went on, still eyeing Rane doubtfully.

"You can't," Rane admitted to them, "but I'm telling you on the record that I won't."

"Why?" said Ron bluntly.

Rane shrugged. "Why would I?" she said. "I'd rather just know you guys are safe. Help you out, if I can. No sense bringing any more nonsense into it." She glanced at Harry, feeling a touch of sorrow, and added in a much lower voice, "it's just me and Idril now, Harry, but Sirius loved you and so do I. He wouldn't have said anything. Neither will I."

A moment of silence fell between them. Harry and Rane stared at one another in the quiet, wordless.

"Harry's got to destroy You Know Who's Horcruxes," Hermione said in a rush. Ron groaned and fell backwards on the bed, dragging his hands down his face.

"Horcruxes," said Rane quietly. She sat back on her elbows, feeling suddenly weak. "You said Horcruxes. Like . . . _Plural_."

Harry nodded. "You know of them?"

"'Course I do," said Rane quietly. The blow of this was rather more shocking than she had been prepared for; of all the revelations she'd expected to glean from cornering the trio, it had not been this, certainly not.

"How?" Hermione asked her frankly.

Rane shrugged, sitting up. There were a hundred questions in her throat, but she swallowed them back with an effort. She'd made a promise to them, and she meant to keep it; she didn't want to cloud her own judgment with too many details.

"The Elves," she said quietly. "They have a bunch of laws against it. You're not even allowed to discuss it, it's pretty serious." She glanced at Harry, her face stern. "Harry, do you know how many he has?"

"Seven," said Harry.

Rane felt a wave of faintness wash over her. She lowered her head, massaging her brow for a moment.

"Seven," she whispered. " _Seven_ of them."

"Dumbledore got rid of one of them," Harry told her. "I got rid of another in my Second Year. So . . . So really only five."

Rane looked up at him, smirking. "Well, now I feel better."

Harry smiled back at her. She got to her feet.

"Look, I'm not going to ask about anything else right now," she said contemplatively, "even though I really want to, and even though I'm worried about you guys . . . But listen, y'all. All three of you."

They were watching her silently.

"You guys need to stay in touch with me," she said quietly. "While you're out there."

"Owls won't work, Rane," Hermione said, "they could bee seen -!"

"There are other ways I can show you," Rane said. "Ways that the Death Eaters won't think of. Can you do that for me, at least?"

Harry glanced at his two companions, then nodded.

"I want to help you," said Rane. "So let me, and your secret is safe with me. Is that a deal?"

Harry nodded, looking up at her assuredly. "Yeah."

"Alright," Rane said, and turning twisted the knob of the door. "I'm going to go help Molly arrange the flowers for the wedding. Surely you won't leave before that, right?" She added, glancing at them with sudden worry.

"'Course not," said Ron with assurance.

"Good," said Rane, and casting them all a final look she strode from the room and out of sight.


	44. The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Fleur say their vows, but are interrupted

"Rane, dear, could you give me a hand with these?"

Rane, her arms full of flowery wreaths, turned around to find Molly Weasley staggering up the walkway of the Burrow and balancing a massive vase full of opaque marbles up the stairway, clearly ready to overturn at any moment. She dropped the wreathes in a flurry of falling petals and lunged forward to snag the spare edges of the vase a moment before disaster.

"Sweet lord!" Rane gasped, startled by the weight of it. "You'll throw your back out, Molly!"

"Well, it didn't _look_ so very heavy," Molly gasped, straining. "Here, here, set it down - right there on the steps, that's the one -"

Together they parked the vase on the stairway heading into the foyer, where it sat amongst the fallen wreaths looking quite useless.

"What's it for?" Rane asked blankly, staring at it. "Does it light up or something?"

Molly shrugged, arming sweat from her brow and looking slightly abashed. "Oh, you know, just for looks," she replied.

"I guess so," Rane said dubiously. "Not really your style, honestly."

"I suppose I did hope it would impress the Delacours," Molly admitted. "The French are so stylish, after all, perhaps it will make them feel more comfortable . . . "

"Nothing like a vase full of beads to make everyone feel at home, that's what I always say," Rane remarked. Molly rolled her eyes, smirking.

They were in the final stages of the preparations for Bill's wedding, and Molly had them all running themselves ragged. Though most of Rane's weekdays were spent at the Ministry, she had forfeited her evenings and weekends to do her part. She was happy to help out - more than happy, actually, given that she and Idril had taken up semi-permanent residence in a spare bedroom on the second floor until the event had passed - but Rane had precious little experience with weddings, and the toil and labor it entailed came as a surprise to her. It seemed endless.

"Will you be there for it tonight?" Molly asked her, rearranging the vase and sounding deceptively casual.

"Of course," Rane replied. She'd bent and begun to gather the dropped wreaths, stringing them around one arm, her long hair hanging in her face. "Wouldn't miss it."

"You don't think you'll be called away?"

Rane straightened, petals fluttering from her arms. "I wouldn't miss it," she repeated steadily. "If they call me, I'm busy. Dad, too. And the Order will all be there, so none of us have any reason to be anywhere else."

Molly stood looking at her for a moment, her mouth working.

"Can I tell you something?" she said at last. Her voice had dropped to a conspirator's whisper, and her eyes were wide and frightened. "Something silly?"

"Molly," Rane said, and grasped Molly's hand with her free one. "Yeah, but I already know what you're going to say. Go on and say it if it makes you feel better."

"What if they pick tonight to - well - to show up?" Molly said quietly. "What if they find out where Harry is?"

This had been a growing fear, not just within the Order of the Phoenix but at the Ministry as well. For all her reservations towards Rufus Scrimgeour, Rane appreciated his efforts to keep Harry safe and out of sight of the enemy; he had made the journey to the Burrow to distribute Albus Dumbledore's will to Hermione, Ron and Harry without an entourage, for instance, and had worked hard to keep Harry's defenses at maximum beneath the radar, assigning several high-ranking Aurors to the area at any given time (including Rane herself, though she had already assigned herself Harry-watching duty during her stay at the Burrow anyway) and allowing for an almost-constant patrol around the Weasleys' home. Nonetheless, the risk was never far from any of their minds.

"There's no way in hell that any of us would allow that to happen. We've watched their movements for weeks, we've reconned . . . Albus would tell you the same thing if he were here."

"But suppose we _missed_ something -!"

"It's going to be fine." Rane squeezed her hand tightly, trying to look sincere. "Molly, it'll be _fine_. Shit, if any Death Eaters showed their ugly mugs around here, there are four or five very capable people who would be more than ready to introduce them to Jesus, myself included. My dad could probably handle four or five all by his lonesome. It's _fine_."

"Do you really think so?"

"I know so." Rane deposited the wreaths onto the steps again and took Molly's shoulders, staring into her eyes. "You need to stop fretting about this conjecture shit and start enjoying your son's wedding. Your kid is getting married, it's supposed to be _happy_. It's supposed to be a _celebration_. Leave the dumb parts to us Aurors."

Molly nodded, glancing down to hide her glistening eyes. "Of course."

"Now come on," Rane said, bending and hoisting the flowery wreaths for the third time. "Show me where to hang these goofy things before I have an asthma attack."

Between the wedding, work, the Order, and chasing Idril around the Burrow (she had mastered the art of bipedal motion and was as fast as greased lightning these days), Rane had precious little time to spend ruminating over what she had spoken to Harry about. Most of her musing took place at night while she lay in bed. with Idril sleeping soundly in her crib a few feet away. The idea that Voldemort had achieved the magic necessary to create Horcruxes - not just one, but _several!_ \- was repulsive to her and completely unprecedented. This was, she knew, not something she could share with anyone else, not only because she had made a promise but because they likely wouldn't have understood the depth and breadth of such a pronouncement anyway. Wade would have - likely better than she, as a matter of fact - but his reaction to such a thing? Rane didn't want to find out what he would do. That ancient Elven covenant that forbade Horcruxes - what they called _fæ'ssä_ in old Quenya, the soul-vessel - would be far more familiar to him than it was to Rane, and it was familiar enough to Rane to cause her a deep sense of religious terror, something akin to blasphemy. Rane sometimes speculated what the Elves would do when they learned, as they inevitably would, that so many had been created without their knowledge.

As much as Rane would have dearly loved to sit Harry down and ask him to fill in the gaps for her, however, there was simply no time. Molly kept them not just occupied but separated, and Rane rather thought it was deliberate. Rane had not betrayed a word of her conversation with Harry, Ron and Hermione, but she had seen Molly watching her closely when she left the room where they had revealed their intentions, and Molly was not a stupid woman. Rane had taken Sirius's place to Harry in some ways; though she was no Godmother, it was obvious Harry trusted her more than he trusted many of the other adults at the Burrow, with the possible exception of Remus. Molly had tried only once to interrogate her, during a late-night session when she and Rane had been alone in the kitchen, washing dishes after supper side by side.

_Did they mention anything to you about Hogwarts?_

Rane had glanced at her, disarmed by her offhand tone. _Did who?_

 _Harry, Hermione, Ron, any of them._ Molly had continued to scrub the plates in the sink. Rane had thought it odd she'd chosen to complete this task manually, and odder still that she'd requested Rane's help when both Ginny and Fleur had volunteered; now it was all beginning to come clear.

_What d'you mean, did they mention Hogwarts? When?_

_Well I saw you coming out of Ron's room earlier,_ Molly had replied, still in that queerly casual voice. _I thought perhaps they may have been talking about their studies._

Rane had understood well enough what was coming then. She had shrugged, keeping her face carefully blank.

 _Nope_.

 _Well_ , said Molly with the air of divulging an interesting bit of trivia, _you'll be interested to know, then, that none of them are planning on going back this year._

 _That right_? Rane had remarked, sounding faintly interested.

_Yes, they're going to drop out, all three of them. Even Hermione, if you can imagine it._

_Why's that?_

Molly had glanced sidelong at her, looking slightly irritated, then pressed on, scrubbing harder. _Well, they seem to think they're off to destroy You-Know-Who all by themselves. Silly, isn't it? A crop of teenagers barely out of their Sixth Year, trying to defeat a dark wizard like him? With no help from any adults?_

Rane stacked a few clinking plates into the strainer, taking care to arrange them carefully before replying.

 _Molly, I know what you're going to ask me before you even say it, and it's not my place to mess wit this_ , she said at last, abandoning pretense.

 _Well, some might say it's your responsibility!_ Molly had responded, her voice rising shrilly, dropping her plate into the soapy water and rounding on Rane. _You're as good as a parent to Harry now, Rane, he trusts you, surely he_ -!

 _And that's exactly why I'm not going to discuss this any further_ , Rane had replied firmly. _Because he trusts me._

 _He doesn't understand what he's doing, Rane_ , Molly had retorted, her voice rising. She was clearly angry now, no more shill. _He'll get himself killed! And what about his future?_

_I won't let anything happen to Harry, Molly, you know I'd die before -_

_You_ would _, would you? It's your chance to do something but you're doing nothing about what he's - !_

_I owe it to him to -_

_You owe it to ME to tell me what's going to happen to my SON!_ Molly had said loudly, slapping the countertop and sending a spray of bubbles up. _And to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, too, for that matter! And to Sirius! And to James and Lily Potter, although I know you never knew them -_ I _knew them, and I can tell you now that they would never have let Harry get into the kind of trouble he's angling for now!_

Rane had stared at her for a moment longer in silence, then removed her hands from the soapy water and reached for the towel nearby, drying her wrists expressionlessly.

_Where are you going?_

_To bed._

_Haven't you heard a word I -!?_

_If they want to ditch school, Molly, as much as we might hate it, that's their volition_ , she had said quietly. _They're legally adults, just like Fred and George were when they decided to leave Hogwarts. All we can do is support them if we can._

Molly had stood staring at her - no, _glaring_ at her - breathing quickly, one of her hands still clutching a washrag with white-knuckled tightness. Rane could not recall Molly ever being this angry with her before, and she liked it not at all; nonetheless, she did not mean to budge on this one. Let her be pissed.

 _And I suppose you're going to tell me you knew nothing about any of this before tonight?_ Molly had scoffed angrily at last, her face red.

Rane had simply gazed at her, drying her hands. After a moment she had thrown the towel onto the counter.

 _I'm going to bed,_ she had said again. She had pulled her wand from one jeans pocket and waved it at the sink, where the dishes began to magically wash themselves.

 _What if it was Idril instead of Harry?_ Molly had cried as Rane had strode towards the foyer.

Rane had frozen without turning, feeling the first fingers of anger caressing her gently. She allowed a beat of silence to pass before allowing herself to respond.

 _Idril isn't seventeen_ , she had said at last, choosing her words carefully. _And if she was, I wouldn't be able to stop her doing what she felt was right. 'Night, Molly._

And that had been the end of it, though Molly had been icy towards Rane for a few days thereafter. Rane hadn't been angry towards her; quite the opposite, in fact. She was a mother too, after all. She got it. But she had made a promise, and she wasn't about to break it now.

The day of the wedding turned out gorgeous, sunny and warm with a light, cool breeze. The venue was fully set up and beautiful; Molly's efforts had finally come to fruition, it seemed. Though guests continued to arrive, the Delacours, followed closely by what Rane assumed was their extended family, had arrived first. Fleur's mother was a fantastically gorgeous woman - a half-Veela, Rane recalled - and her father was a squat, pleasant man that had made it his business to greet everyone in attendance warmly. Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle, had made quick friends with Idril, who had toddled up to her at once and presented her with a handful of flowers. Rane had dressed her up in a small, bright blue dress she'd come across at Madame Malkin's, and she looked positively radiant. Rane, never much of a fashionista, had herself donned her typical formal getup - a close black dress with a pair of boots. Molly had offered to let her borrow an old, moth-eaten pair of dress robes from her Hogwarts days - _You're a bit taller and slimmer than I was, dear, but I can hem it if you'd like!_ \- but Rane had refused as politely as she could. Now that she was outside in the glaring sun, she was happy for her bare shoulders; it was warm enough without long sleeves.

Wade arrived just before four, looking both dapper and a little outlandish in a black suit, a brown leather jacket and a pair of sunglasses, his long hair tamed into a knot at his neck. Idril made a wobbly beeline for him, shrieking _naneth'nin_ over and over (it was Quenya for _grandfather_ , Rane thought, and she was sure that Wade had taught it to her himself). He swept her up and planted a loud kiss on her cheek.

"Where's your sword?" Wade asked her at once, true to form.

"Where's _yours_?" Rane asked, noting his bare belt.

"Asked you first."

"Well, it's a wedding," Rane replied, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "I've got your dad's dagger in my boot, but don't tell Molly."

"Lips are sealed," Wade replied, pulling her into a one-armed hug. Idril had snatched his glasses and was presently cramming them onto her face upside-down. "You ladies both look gorgeous."

"Good genes, I guess," Rane said, grinning.

"I like to think so," Wade remarked, glancing around himself and nodding.

" _Like-tooth-ink-so_ ," Idril said in a weirdly accurate imitation of Wade, then shrieked with giggles as Wade threw his head back and laughed approvingly.

"It's so weird how well she can talk," Rane remarked. "I mean, first try almost every time. Elvish is even worse."

"Well she comes by it honestly," Wade replied, plucking his sunglasses off Idril's face and tucking them into his pocket. "Have you seen Moony?"

"Briefly. He didn't look terribly happy."

"Yeah, he's been a little down since we picked up Harry," Wade agreed. "It might be Mad-Eye bothering him, but you know how he is, wouldn't say shit if he had a mouthful."

"What about you?" Rane asked him, a touch diffidently.

Wade sighed, lowering Idril to the ground, where she streaked off towards Fred and George, crying their names happily.

"You know we worked together for something like forty years," said Wade. "The Order came later, but we were Aurors together for at least that. Probably longer, but I don't remember just when he passed the exams anymore it's been so long. _Forty_ _years_ , Rane."

"That long?"

Wade nodded, chewing his lip. "I remember when he was younger than you and he looked a little less like a lawnmower attacked him," he said, smirking a little. "He had both his eyes back then. I helped him get ready for his trials, taught him a little here and there, probably the same as he did Tonks. And now it's _weird_ , not having him around. So soon after Albus, too. And so _sudden_."

He dragged one hand down his face, shaking his head and frowning.

"It's one of the weirdest parts about living around wizards and witches, seeing them grow old and then die," he went on. He looked solemnly over the scores of happy patrons before them, lost in laughter and food and drink and celebration. "You never get used to it. Feels like somebody ripped the rug right out from under you, sometimes."

Rane grasped his hand tightly, saying nothing. They stood that way for a moment, side by side, watching the frivolity and celebration happening around them in silence.

"Was that how it felt for you?" Wade asked her abruptly, his voice very low.

"How what felt?"

"With Sirius."

Rane started unpleasantly, looking over at him with an expression of surprised hurt. She watched his profile for a moment, her lips pursed.

"Yeah, a little," she said at last. "Felt like being gutted. Still does."

"Even though you knew him for such a short time?"

"Even then," Rane agreed quietly. "It was more than knowing him, dad. He wasn't a guy I worked with. He was . . . " She swallowed, then shrugged. "Everything. The only time I ever felt like I was home. So yeah, it was like that, a little bit."

Wade squeezed her hand, and Rane swiped at her eyes surreptitiously, clearing her throat.

"Enough of this depressing shit," she murmured, throwing him a damp-eyed smile. "Ginny did my eyeliner and I don't want to fuck it up already."

Wade clapped her on the back, straightening, suddenly brisk. Rane was too keen to miss the brightness of his own eyes. "You're right, girl," he said. "Come on, let's get a drink."

Guests began to show up in droves after Wade's arrival. Many of them she didn't recognize. Many of them were clearly Weasleys (or what Rane assumed were Prewetts, Molly's extended family), as well as Fleur's guests, most of whom were as blond and beautiful as she was, few of whom spoke much English. Some of them were complete strangers, perhaps colleagues of Bill's at Gringott's.

Rane did recognize many of the guests, however, though a few of them were only vaguely familiar; Xenophilius Lovegood, for instance, was recognizable to her from someplace she couldn't place until she noticed Luna cavorting about his side. Only then did it come back to her that Luna had mentioned that her father sometimes wrote about Rane on the evening that Albus was killed. She recognized Viktor Krum, a Seeker for Bulgaria and a contestant for the Triwizard Tournament, which Rane had been stationed at some years before she knew Harry very well; there were also many Order members. Tonks, who had gone blonde for the occasion, was conspicuous among the crowd, often arm in arm with Remus Lupin, who despite everything looked woefully unhappy.

"Is Remus okay?" Rane asked Tonks, cornering her near the punch bowl. Before Tonks could answer, Rane rolled her eyes, slapping herself on the forehead with the flat of her palm. "I'm sorry, Tonks, you look goddam beautiful. Should have been the first thing my dumbass said."

"Wotcher, Rane," Tonks replied, beaming at her. "So do you! Matter of fact, I've had a couple of the Delacour cousins come ask who the foxy brunette was in the black dress -"

"Hope you told them I was off the market."

"'Course, I did." Tonks laughed. "Anyways, yeah, he's okay. Had a . . . well, a rough few days, I guess -"

"More like a rough few months," Remus said, striding up behind Tonks and kissing her on the cheek. His expression of disquiet had departed, but Rane was sure that it was only due to her presence.

"You look handsome as hell," Rane told him, and meant it. If it weren't for his glum demeanor, she might never have seen him look younger or more vital; the gray in his hair seemed diminished, the lines in his face faded. He looked more like the young man Sirius had shown her a few times in his old photographs - tall, sinewy, old-spirited but good-looking in a distracted way. "I thought that was James Bond and his lady-friend hanging out at the bar earlier."

Tonks giggled. Remus gave her a half-smile that seemed insincere.

"You working tonight?"

"Neither of us, no," Remus replied.

"I may be out for a while," Tonks added, and then, curiously, flushed pink.

"Because of the _niño_?" said Rane.

"The what?" said Tonks.

Rane gestured vaguely towards Tonks's midsection. "The little guy. There's a little guy, right?"

Tonks and Remus both stared at her for a moment in utter silence.

Remus scoffed, glancing around, then in a hushed voice said, " _How'd_ you -?"

"The way _she_ looks and the way _you're_ acting," Rane replied, matching his tone. She took half a moment to release a muffled squeal of excitement and jumped up with both hands clenched into fists, unable to contain her excitement. "I'm sorry, but _fuck,_ this is _so awesome_! I wasn't sure until I saw your faces, but _holy_ _shit,_ you guys! _Congratulations_!"

Remus stared at her a moment more in silence, looking pale and exasperated. Rane could hear his thoughts as loudly as if he'd been speaking them. Tonks was flushed bright red but grinning, looking pleased.

"You mustn't -!" Remus began, but Rane waved him off.

"My lips are sealed." She turned before either of them could reply, grinning at the two of them over her shoulder, and lifting her glass, raised her voice to a normal tone. "Have a good night, you kids."

Harry had been urged to take a hefty carafe of Polyjuice and was now impersonating a short, squat red-headed kid that the Weasleys had opted to call Cousin Barry, and although his own robes were clearly a little tight, he seemed comfortable enough. The twins had found themselves quite taken with Fleur's family, while Ron was to be spotted on the outskirts of the party staring longingly at Hermione Granger, who had emerged from the Burrow looking absolutely amazing in a billowy lavender dress. It was impossible to miss her expression, however, which wavered between painfully polite and anxious. She had taken a seat up at the sidelines and sat there now, clutching a glass of untouched champagne in both hands.

"Hey, good lookin'," Rane remarked as she approached and taking a seat next to her. Idril was toddling about near her heel, carrying a fistful of daisies and greeting everyone she met with loud cries of joy. She'd learned a new word from one of the Delacours, probably Gabrielle - _Sah-loo!_ \- and she was now shouting it at anyone who she came across, grinning from ear to ear, her black hair glistening in the sunshine.

"Thank you, Rane!" Hermione said, flushing crimson and grinning. "So do you!"

"Well, I take after my daughter," Rane replied, smirking towards Idril, who had strode confidently up to George and tugged at his pants leg, crying her new word happily. George scooped her up and placed her on his shoulders. Fleur's attractive blond cousins shrieked in delight and crowded around her, cooing and exclaiming. "Who's the stud?"

"What do you mean?"

Rane tipped her glass of champagne towards Krum, who was pouring himself some punch, surrounded by chattering women and looking surly. Hermione flushed to the roots of her hair.

"Oh, Viktor," said Hermione. "We went out for a bit in Fourth Year, that's all. It's _nothing_ ," she added quickly as Rane opened her mouth, looking scandalized. "Really, we've _barely_ kept in touch, it's been nearly three years -"

"You went out with the _Seeker_ from _Bulgaria_?" Rane remarked, impressed. "And you never _told_ me that? The hell, Hermione?"

"Well - well, it was complicated," Hermione replied, still pink, but Rane thought she looked a little pleased with herself. "It was a _really_ long time ago, Rane, I hardly even remember . . . "

"Is that why you're looking so bummed?"

"Because of Viktor?" Hermione scoffed, shaking her head. "No, not at all. Rane, I just can't relax, I'm so worried."

Rane watched her for a moment, swirling her champagne around. "About leaving, you mean?"

"I just don't think we're _prepared!_ " Hermione burst out. "I've tried to think of everything, I've _tried_ , but I know there are things I'm not thinking of, I know it -!"

"Look, if you come up with something you forgot, you know where to find me," Rane told her, dropping her voice and leaning towards her. "I _told_ you I'd help you guys."

Hermione sighed, leaning back. Rane squeezed her wrist reassuringly.

"Drink that," Rane said, nodding at her glass. "It'll help. For a little bit, anyways. Never fixes much in the long run, though."

The ceremony began around dusk. Rane was sat with Wade on one side and Harry on the other, Idril sitting solemn and silent on her lap. Rane had an idea that she was tired, but her still was more to do with Idril's own intuition. Bill and Charlie - the latter of whom Rane had only met on a few occasions - were standing at the fore of the procession, both wearing dress robes and looking handsome and glowing. When Ginny and Gabrielle appeared, both clad in gorgeous golden dresses and bearing a little basket enchanted to drop white petals in their wake, Idril crawled into Wade's lap and plopped down (a little bit too hard, Rane surmised, seeing Wade's cringe). Fleur appeared shortly thereafter, alongside her father, and Bill's face when he saw her . . . Rane had not been so close to tears since her father mentioned Sirius earlier that evening, and for the very same reason. It was odd, bittersweet; she felt a soaring joy for Fleur and Bill, something so powerful it was almost giddy, but beneath that . . .

Molly and Mrs. Delacour were both weeping noisily in the first row - Rane could see Molly's shoulders heaving from where she sat. Behind them, the honking sobs of Hagrid were audbile; somehow, Rane had missed him coming in.

When the vows were spoken - Rane found herself staring between Fleur's and Bill's face more than anything, hardly hearing anything the squat wizard said - the crowd rose to their feet and cheers when the groom and bride kissed. Rane stood too, putting her hands together gently, but the smile on her face felt awkward, false. After a moment, she turned to her father to find he was always looking at her.

"I shouldn't have brought him up," he said, leaning towards her in order to be heard over the din. Fleur and Bill were lifting their clasped hands above their heads now, beaming amidst the applause. "I'm sorry, Rane. I should have known it would bother you."

"Mama!" Idril shouted, though over the noise Rane only saw the words form on her lips. Rane clasped her chubby fist into one hand, kissed it, then turned away and pressed past her father, striding for the entrance of the tent, pushing her way through the crowd as she went.

When she broke through to the cool evening air, Rane breathed a sigh of relief. There was no stopping what was coming now; every bit of her considerable will was bending beneath it, and she walked with the hasty, not-quite-panicked cadence of someone who was about to be sick. She strode quickly to the steps leading to the Burrow, sat herself on the bottom step, and simply remained there for a moment, staring at her boots in the dying sunlight. They were scuffed now, dusty with the dirt of the garden. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her lean thighs bare and rippled with goosebumps. She turned her eyes up towards the sky, which was pink and blue, fading quickly to black, dotted with stars that seemed avidly bright already. A crescent moon, diffuse and gorgeous, rolled over the horizon of the Burrow's estate, still and bleak over the gently rippling grass.

"Don't cry at Bill's wedding, you fucking idiot," she whispered, but of course she might as well have asked the sun not to set. Even as she spoke, she could hear the hitch in her throat. The world doubled and then trebled before her, and she lowered her head again. The tears fell from her eyes without fanfare, as they always did - one, two, three, onto her bare knees. As always, she hoped that was all, and as always, she was wrong. The next moment, a sob wracked her midsection, tightening the muscle there and driving a harsh gasp from her lips. She folded her hands over her chest, bending over, feeling not just ashamed but disgusted with herself.

It had been such a long time, such a very long time, since Sirius had died. That June had marked two years - two whole _years_! Two years since she'd spoken to him, or touched him, or kissed him. If she needed any reminder of the passage of time, she need only look at Idril, who was walking, talking and doing her own thing pretty much nonstop these days. But it seemed like yesterday even now, so fresh and open was that wound. Rane wondered if it would ever heal.

Rane remained that way for what seemed like a while, grasping at her shoulders, hugging herself against the loneliness that seemed to permeate everything now, until a small, warm hand intertwined with her own. She looked up, her face tear-streaked, to discover the face of her daughter. Idril was standing before her, looking up at her with her bright eyes, her dark brows knitted.

"Mama, cry," she said quietly, and with her free hand she pulled Rane's hand down and clasped it before her face. She placed a gentle kiss on Rane's palm. "Mama, don't cry. Don't cry. Don't sad. No don't sad, mama."

Rane sniffed, straightening, grasping Idril's hand in both of her own. "I'm sorry, baby," she said, her voice thick. "Sometimes I miss your dad an awful lot, that's all."

Idril's brow knitted again, her eyes never leaving her mother's. Rane reflected, not for the first time, on the incredible intelligence behind those eyes, the perception that seemed not just Elven or human but something more than the sum of their parts.

"Dad," Idril said quietly. She lowered herself to a sitting position, folding her small legs Indian-style beneath her, then planted her chin on Rane's knees, looking up at her pensively. "Dad. Sirius. Mama sad."

Rane nodded. "I miss him, baby girl. I miss him."

Idril met her mother's eyes, and Rane had a queer, almost preternatural sense of someone shuffling about inside her head. Idril's eyes were filling with tears now too, and Rane clasped her hands in both of her own, watching her intently.

"Mama love dad," Idril said softly. A tear fell from one eye, dotting her dress. "Dad love mama but dad . . . Dad . . ."

Idril's lower lip began to tremble. Rane scooped her up into her arms and hugged her to herself tightly.

"I have you, Id," she whispered, and pressed her face against Idril's fragrant, inky black hair. "I have you, and you're enough, my girl. Love you so much, so very much."

Idril wrapped both hands around Rane's head, mussing her hair, and squeezed fiercely. "Love mama. Love you, mama."

They remained that way, embracing in the growing dim, until a scream resounded in the tent. Rane's head jolted up. The din of the crowd had died.

"Come on, baby," she said, and in a moment she was on her feet, striding towards the wedding tent, Idril on her hip.

Rane entered the tent just in time to see a silvery lynx striding into the center of the crowd, which had begun to dance and celebrate properly in her absence. She recognized it, but she couldn't immediately say where from. After a moment, a familiar, booming voice echoed from it:

The Ministry has fallen. Rufus Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.

The crowd around her remained frozen, but Rane strode forward immediately towards her father, who was already casting about for her. She thrust Idril into his arms, planted a loud kiss on her forehead, and spoke quickly.

"Get her out of her, right now," she said. "Take her to the Elves. Somewhere safe."

"Rane, that was Kingsley -"

"RIGHT NOW!" Rane shouted at him. "NOW!"

Wade stood watching her for a moment, hesitating. She took a step towards him, and he took one backwards at once, galled by her intensity.

"You don't even have a sword," she said roughly. She could feel her heart hammering. "Get Idril out of here!"

Wade looked at her a moment longer, hesitating. Rane gripped his forearm.

"You promised me," she whispered through clenched teeth. "You swore you'd keep her face if this happened. So keep your promise and go!"

Wade grasped her hand. "Be safe," he hissed, his eyes overbright. "And come back to us as soon as you can. Love you, girl."

In a swirl of robes, he and Idril had vanished. Rane turned, pulling her wand in one hand and yanking the kukri from her boot in the other, and strode off through the crowd, which was just now beginning to bustle a bit, in the earliest stages of panic.

It had already begun to happen within moments; Rane saw the flashes of light as the Aurors among them began to cast Protego spells, heard the loud pops that meant that Apparated wizards or witches had just made a sudden appearance. She pushed her way through the crowd, looking for Harry, and caught Ron mid-run by the arm.

"Where's Hermione?"

"Here!"

Hermione rushed between them, grasping Ron and Rane by the wrists. Harry was striding toward them, looking disoriented; Rane cast a shielding spell towards him, casting a red bolt of light away from him almost at once. It hit the tent and created a giant, blackened hole.

"What's -?" he began, but Hermione had already grasped his hand.

And then the light and noise of the tent vanished as all four of them vanished into nothingness.


	45. Tottenham Court road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane, Ron, Hermione and Harry flee the wedding for safety, but are delayed.

With Idril and Wade out of immediate danger, Rane had immediately moved onto her next task - seeking out Harry with the singular purpose of getting him out of there herself. As a result, she was caught entirely off guard when Hermione Apparated all four of them instead. She had never been surprised by Apparition before, and the last decade of her cultivated muscle memory was swept neatly aside as a result. When the air whooshed back in around her - noticeably warmer and damper - Rane went, arms pin wheeling, directly onto her ass. It appeared for a moment as though they had not departed the Burrow at all, so thick was the throng of people around her.

"Where are we?" she heard Ron gasp. She turned, finding him, Hermione and Harry (the latter still with threads of red in his hair from the fading Polyjuice potion) standing on the sidewalk, staggering and looking bewildered.

"Tottenham Court road," said Hermione, stuffing her wand back into her pocket. "Rane, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just wasn't expecting it," Rane replied sincerely, clambering to her feet and brushing her dress off where she'd landed. "Kind of wishing I'd worn a longer dress, if we're being honest -"

"Maybe you ought to put that away," Harry said. Rane looked down, realized her grandfather's kukri was gripped in one hand (passers-by were casting it uneasy looks and giving her a wide berth), and shoved it into one boot quickly.

"Are you guys all okay?" she said.

"Yeah, think so," said Ron, looking ill. "What d'you reckon -?"

"Come on, we should walk," said Hermione, starting up the sidewalk. "Let's get inside someplace, before somebody notices . . ."

Rane couldn't agree more. The four of them strode up the walkway, brushing past the hordes of late-night revelers, most of them stinking of booze.

"You guys are going to need to change out of those," Rane remarked - Harry and Ron were still wearing dress robes and garnering curious looks for it. "Hermione, I think you and I are okay for the time being."

"Yes, we've got to find somewhere for you to change," Hermione agreed, sounding harried.

"Hermione, we haven't got anything to change into," Ron told her as a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him.

"Why didn't I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me?" said Harry, frustrated. "All last year I kept it on me and -"

"It's okay, I've got the Cloak, I've got clothes for both of you," said Hermione. "Just try and act naturally until - here, this will do."

Hermione led them into a narrow alleyway away from the crowded walkway; a few stray cats scattered before them, hissing. She stopped near some overfull garbage cans and began to dig around in her clutch, her brow knitted.

"Are you keeping their clothes in there?" Rane asked her, beginning to cotton on. She had knelt on one knee, carefully placing her wand into the thickness of her left boot, positioning it so that there was little risk of it snapping with her motion. Ron and Harry were standing side by side, watching her and Hermione with slightly gormless expressions, Ron glancing around uneasily.

Hermione glanced up at her, looking distracted. "Well, yes, actually," she said, a trifle defensively.

"Extension charm?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, still sounding a little guilty. "Undetectable, according to Magical Charms and Hexes . . . I thought it would be safer to be prepared -"

"That's very advanced," Rane said, straightening and affixing her with an impressed look. "You must really know what you're doing."

Hermione flushed crimson, still rifling in her bag but looking pleased. She pulled out two pairs of jeans and a couple of sweaters from the bag as they looked on, followed by what was unmistakably Harry's Invisibility Cloak; these she handed to Ron and Harry, who both looked astonished.

"I thought I'd pack everything we needed early, just in case," she explained. "Rane, will you make sure no one comes down here, just in case?"

Rane was already facing the alley's entrance, unarmed but only a quick motion from her wand or her dagger. Behind her, she could hear the grunts and shuffles of Harry and Ron discarding their robes for the muggle attire Hermione had provided.

"How in the bloody hell did you manage to get all this together before the wedding?" Ron asked Hermione, sounding amazed. Rane turned towards Hermione, who was pointedly looking towards the far wall but still smirking.

"Well, I told you I was getting things together for us for a few days," she replied, trying to sound disapproving. "I've been keeping everything with me just in case we had to leave early, I thought it might be a good idea to be prepared in case of an emergency."

"And too right you were," Rane remarked, glancing at her with undisguised wonder. "Do either of these guys realize how smart you are? I'm honestly curious."

"I do," Ron said loudly, hitching up his trousers and throwing a significant glance towards Hermione, who sniffed.

Harry had wrapped the Invisibility Cloak over himself, vanishing completely before speaking.

"The wedding," he said, sounding anxious. "The rest of them -"

"We can't worry about that now," whispered Hermione. "It's you they're after, Harry, and we'll just put everyone in even more danger by going back."

"She's right," said Ron, who seemed to know that Harry was about to argue, even if he could not see his face. "Most of the Order was there, they'll look after everyone, don't you think, Rane?"

Rane, who was gnawing restlessly at her fingernails and staring into space, looked at him.

"Alright guys," she said briskly. "I don't know London very well, Hermione, do you know somewhere we could go? A bar or something? Let's get indoors where we can talk."

Rane brought up the rear of the convoy, her eyes roving back and forth while Hermione and Ron strode ahead with Harry presumably between them. She could feel the beginnings of the shock of what had truly happened threatening at the back of her mind, but she pressed it back fiercely; she wasn't prepared to think about it yet, certainly not out here in the open. Rane kept her focus on keeping Harry, Hermione and Ron safe, and for now it seemed they had little to worry for - the occupants of the streets were clearly muggles - but just the same, she didn't like being in public, surrounded by so many strangers in such a big place. Still, although she was jostled a bit and catcalled a few times - as was Hermione, something she found herself almost unreasonably angry about - no one appeared to notice them much otherwise.

"There," Hermione said up ahead, gesturing to a small hole-in-the-wall of an all-night café. The four of them stepped into the drab interior, and at once Rane could almost hear Mad-Eye's voice chastising her for choosing such a wide-open place to lie low, even if it was empty. Hermione wasn't an Auror, she couldn't have known - and in any case, if they left now en masse it would look strange. Rane sat down with them in one of the greasy, Formica-encrusted booths, feeling absurdly paranoid.

For a few moments they sat in tense silence, Hermione snatching quick glances over her shoulder so frequently she appeared to be seizing. Rane could hear Harry's quick breathing at her shoulder. There was some sort of horrible, canned elevator music playing overhead, something vaguely familiar - "Rolling in the Deep," Rane thought. It gave the café an even more cheerless and inhospitable quality.

"Hermione," said Rane, quiet but sharp. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Looking at the door like that," Rane told her, still sotto voce. "Draws attention. I can see it just fine, I'll be your eyes."

Hermione shook her head, her face pale. "Sorry," she said quietly. "Stupid, I know, but I just -"

"It's not stupid," Rane said. She'd crossed one leg over the other and one hand was caressing the hilt of her wand beneath the table; for all her cool demeanor, her heart was beating hummingbird-quick. "We're all freaked out."

"Look, we're not far from the Leaky Cauldron," Ron said after a moment. "It's only at Charing Cross, maybe we can -"

"Ron, we can't!" said Hermione at once.

"Not to stay there, but to find out what's going on!"

"We know what's going on! Voldemort's taken over the Ministry, what else do we need to know?"

"Okay, okay, it was just an idea!" Ron replied, chastised. "Rane, you're the Auror, what do you think we ought to do?"

"I'd say the first thing is getting somewhere isolated," Rane said thoughtfully, keeping her eyes on the passing crowd on the sidewalk. A few people glanced through the grimy window at them, but not with any recognition or significance - mostly it was drunk men pausing to ogle Hermione or herself before passing on. Her heart was beginning to slow a bit. "Then try to contact the Order, make sure everybody's five-by."

"Where's Idril?" Ron asked her.

"My dad took her to Ylle Thalas, she's safe."

"Blimey, Wade left?" Ron said, looking crestfallen. "I'd feel a lot better if I knew he was with my mum and dad and everyone . . ."

"I'm sure he went back to help," Rane replied, offering him a small smile. "Don't worry, Ron."

The waitress, a grim-looking girl whose gum-smacking reminded Rane uncomfortably of the nurse at St. Mungo's the evening she'd had Idril, shuffled over with a greasy pad and pen, and Hermione ordered three cappuccinos, excluding Harry for obvious reasons. As she strode away, a pair of burly men in workmen's garb shuffled in, the brims of their hats pulled down over their grease-smeared faces, and took up the booth behind them. Rane watched them motionlessly, the cappuccino steaming beneath her face. Beside her, Ron was complaining about his own coffee, and Rane heard the scree of porcelain on Formica as he slid it away from himself.

The dowdy waitress went next to the table with the two men, but the one facing Rane waved her off. As he did, the angle of his face shifted, and as soon as he met her eyes, she realized what she should have a moment sooner - they knew not just who she was, but Hermione and Ron too, and the odds of their proximity to who was doubtless their prime objective.

It happened so quickly that even Rane wasn't sure what had happened at first; as always, once her movements began, her instinct took over almost completely.

The second man - a dark-haired one whose profile she couldn't place at once - went for his pocket, and Rane leapt to her feet, drawing her wand, and pointing it at him shouted, "STUPEFY!"

It was almost a second too late; the man, who Rane knew as Thorfinn Rowle now that she'd gotten a good look at his face, had bellowed his spell at almost exactly the same time, but he wasn't aiming for Rane. There was a scream and the clatter of a coffee cup shattering as it was knocked askew onto the ground; Ron had lunged at Hermione, flattening her, and on the wall next to where her head had been moments before there was now a long, black streak.

Rane's spell hit home, however, but so did Harry's, who had seen what Rane had seen from where he'd been parked next to her on the bench and had fired almost simultaneously. Rowle careened over the back of the table and went sprawling over the one behind him, limbs askew.

His dark-haired companion, who had seen twin jets hit Rowle when only one wand was in immediate evidence, aimed his wand haphazardly towards Ron and Hermione, both of whom were now struggling out of the booth. A jetty of black ropes shot out of his wand, wrapping themselves around Ron, who fell awkwardly onto the floor, his feet flying out from beneath him. Rane ducked an identical spell aimed at her, and behind her she heard the sound of breaking glass and a scream - presumably the waitress. Another Stunning spell manifested out of the empty space that was clearly Harry, but it missed its target, rebounding off the window with a shrill sound, and Rane saw the waitress's reflection in the window vanish as she collapsed behind the counter. She wished bitterly that she could see Harry properly.

"EXPULSO!" the Death Eater bellowed.

"PROTEGO!" Rane shouted back, leaping in front of Ron and Hermione.

His spell skidded off her shield, but only just; he was too close, and she hadn't been ready for the brunt of it. She staggered back a little against the force, and suddenly the table where the four of them had until very recently been sitting exploded in a deafening shower of Formica and wood. The table's season shakers flew like projectiles, striking the far walls in eruptions of salt and pepper. In the backblow, which knocked Hermione and Rane nearly off their feet, Harry appeared abruptly on the floor, the Invisibility Cloak landing in an untidy heap some ways off. Good - at least now Rane knew where he was so she didn't accidentally blast him off his feet.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Hermione shrieked, and the Death Eater seized, rigid, and fell over with a painful thud. Rane pocketed her wand, turning to her companions and surveying the damage, panting.

"Christ, look at this fucking mess," she murmured, out of breath. "Are you guys okay? Reducto," she added, waving her wand towards Ron, who was released by the ropes at last , spluttering and red-faced.

"I think so," said Hermione. Rane didn't think she looked alright; she was getting to her feet, covered in ashtray residue and trembling all over.

"Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry said. He, too, was getting to his feet, staring at the two Death Eaters. He turned over the Death Eater Hermione had Petrified with the toe of his shoe, looking revolted. "I should've recognized him, he was there the night Dumbledore died."

"Well, that one's called Dolohov," Ron said, still sitting on the tiles and looking shaken. "I recognize him from the old wanted posters."

"The other one's Thorfinn Rowle," said Rane, nodding towards the blond Death Eater, who was visible only by his boots, which were sticking over the booth where he'd fallen. "He's got a thing for my dad, I bet seeing me was what gave us away."

"Never mind all that!" said Hermione, sounding slightly hysterical. "How did they find us? What should we do?"

"Lock the door," said Harry at once, firm but quite equable. "Ron, get the lights."

Both Ron and Hermione did so at once, and Rane had a moment to admire Harry's tenacity; here he was, seventeen, about thirty seconds post-attack, and he was cool and collected enough to not only give direction, but to secure their surroundings.

"You're gonna make a good Auror one day," she told him honestly, casting him a fond wink. Harry said nothing, but Rane thought he looked rather pleased as he turned away.

"Let's clean this place up a little bit so it doesn't look so ransacked," Rane said in a louder voice. "Then we can deal with these assholes and hit the road."

A few minutes later found the four of them staring down into the motionless faces of Dolohov and Rowle, both propped up in a booth on the far side of the café where Rane and Ron had dragged them. Dolohov was quite knocked out, but Rowle's eyes flicked between them with unmistakable malice.

"Yeah, I bet you're one hot little potato right now, huh?" said Rane, addressing him. She kicked his shin lightly with the toe of her boot, gazing at him insolently. "These Elves just keep slipping through your little fingers."

"What are we going to do with them?" said Ron. It was dark inside the café now, and Rane could only make out the vague outline of him at her side. His voice dropped, then he added, "Kill them? They'd kill us. They had a good go just now."

"We just need to wipe their memories," said Harry. "It's better like that, it'll throw them off the scent. If we killed them it'd be obvious we were here."

"You're the boss," said Ron, sounding profoundly relieved. "But I've never done a Memory Charm."

"Nor have I," said Hermione. "I know the theory, though."

"I'll get these ones, you get the waitress," Rane said, glancing at her through the dimness. She sighed. "Any other time I'd arrest them and take them in, but given the circumstances . . . Obliviate!"

The flash from her wand lit them all up briefly with its bluish-silver glow. A moment later, another flash appeared at the far end of the café as Hermione performed the charm on the waitress.

"But we still don't know how they found us," she said as she drew back towards them, sounding worried. "How did they know we were here? They couldn't have followed us, look at the way they're dressed . . ."

"What if I've still got the Trace on me?" Harry suggested.

"You can't have, you're seventeen," Ron pointed out. "It's Wizarding Law, you can't put it on an adult."

"As far as you know!" said Hermione. "What if the Death Eaters have found a way to put it on someone who's seventeen?"

"If that were the case, someone would have had to do the spell all over again," Rane said, shaking her head. "And it's advanced stuff, you would have noticed. You've been at the Burrow for the last, what, five days?"

"What d'you reckon, then?" Harry asked her, sounding disturbed. "That they tracked me some other way? Just me?"

Rane stared into his face, visible only by the glistening of his glasses in the low light. "I don't know," she said slowly after a moment. "But if you're thinking that you taking off by yourself is the only thing for it, I've got news for you."

"Yes, we're not splitting up!" Hermione agreed firmly.

"We need a safe place to hide," said Ron. "Give us time to think things through."

"Grimmauld Place," said Rane, and sighed. "It's got to be."

Ron and Hermione gaped at her.

"Don't be silly, Rane, Snape can get in there!"

"Not in theory," Rane replied. "We beefed up security before I left for the Burrow. It's enchanted from stem to stern in case he comes calling."

But even as she heard her own words she felt a sinking sensation. The Order had fortified its defenses, yes, but Snape was an unknown quantity in many ways, more so now that they had witnessed the full extent of his capabilities.

"Yeah, and even if the jinxes and stuff haven't worked," Harry pressed on as Hermione began to argue, "so what? I swear, I'd like nothing better than to meet Snape!"

"But -"

"Hermione, where else is there? It's the best chance we've got. Snape's only one Death Eater. If I've still got the Trace on me, we'll have whole crowds of them on us wherever else we go."

"He's got a point, and I've got another one," Rane said quietly. "If they're tracking Harry, there's a good chance they're going to track both of you guys too, even if you're not together."

Hermione sighed. Rane extended her arm, lifting her wand.

"Come on, hitch a ride, let's get the fuck out of here," she said grimly.

They all grasped her forearm, and in a whirl of robes they departed the grimy café, whirling the spilled salt into an eddy at their wake.


	46. A Place to Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane, Harry, Hermione and Ron find somewhere safe for the evening

The square before 12 Grimmauld Place was deserted, windswept and humid; the only sounds were the usual thumping of distant bass in nearby houses and the scree of late summer crickets. The orange streetlights were grim and foreboding above them, casting their shadows into sharp contrast, and a sheen of mist rose off the pavement and out of the storm drains, giving the air a close, sultry feel.

Wordlessly, they hastened up the steps to number twelve and Harry tapped the heavy iron door with his wand, signaling the score of locks to slip out of place to allow their advent. As the door swung open, allowing a gust of cold, musty air to sweep past them into the street, Rane felt a powerful sense of homecoming. She had not been to Grimmauld Place since Mad-Eye's death, when the dispersion of the Fidelius Charm had forced her to seek refuge at the Burrow with Idril. Aside from the obvious emptiness, the corridor was the same as always - dusty, cobwebby, uninviting and bleak.

The door shut heavily behind them, making them all jump. Rane realized that her three companions had been standing in silence at her side as well, taking in the grim interior. Rane waved her wand towards the sconces on the wall, which popped alight, giving them a little light to go by.

"Was it like that when you were here last, Rane?" Harry asked, nodding towards the troll-foot umbrella stand, which was lying knocked askew on the floor.

Rane was looking at it too. "I honestly can't remember," she said after a moment. "I was in kind of a hurry to leave last time I was here."

"I think someone's been here," Hermione whispered. "Look where it's at . . . You'd trip over it on your way out . . ."

Rane had to agree. It was right in the way, and she would have had to step over it on her way out, which she'd done with her arms full of Idril's things. She didn't remember it being out of place, at least not to this extent.

"So where are the jinxes the Order put up for Snape?" Ron asked, glancing around.

"I don't think we're far enough in yet," Rane replied uneasily. "I've got to warn you, it's not very nice . . . It was Mad-Eye's idea, something to scare him if he tried to get inside -"

"Scare him how?" Harry asked, but he'd taken a step forward before Rane could stop him. Immediately, Mad-Eye's voice, disembodied and otherworldly, spoke out of the shadows.

"Severus Snape?"

"We're not Snape!" Harry cried, sounding startled. Before Rane could give any more instructions - now she was wishing bitterly that she'd thought to explain the new defenses to them before they'd gotten here - she felt her tongue curl in on itself and an icy cold breeze shifted past them. She heard Ron and Hermione gagging.

"Tongue-Tying c-curse," Rane stammered, flexing her tongue awkwardly. "Look, there's more, you guys -"

But again, she was beat by a moment. Through the floor rose Albus Dumbledore's ghostly, bone-thin form, his fingers curled into hooks, his eyes round and empty sockets and his mouth yawping open. Hermione screamed.

"It's j-j-just a sp-sp-sp -!"

"No!" Harry shouted, sounding horrified. "No, it wasn't us, we didn't kill you -!"

At the word "kill," the phantom Albus sank back into the carpet and vanished. Rane was still struggling with the remnants of the Tongue-Tying Curse, which still retained Mad-Eye's obvious aptitude for hexes even in death.

"Sp-sp-sp-SPELL!" she managed at last. "Jesus, I hate this g-goddam c-c-curse -"

She turned to find Hermione crouched on the floor by the door, her eyes wide and frightened. Ron, who was trembling, was patting her lightly on the shoulder.

"It's alright, it's g-gone . . . "

"That . . . That was . . . " Hermione was pale as Ron helped her to her feet.

"Yeah, but it wasn't really him, was it?" said Harry. He, too, was staring at the spot where Albus had vanished, looking shaken. "Just something to scare Snape . . ."

"Exactly," said Rane, massaging her cheeks ruefully. "We wanted to keep him out of here, but Mad-Eye figured throwing a little fuck-you in there would make us all feel a little better . . . "

"Good," said Harry savagely. "I hope it makes him feel terrible."

"I hope he hasn't been here at all," Rane said, glancing around her.

"Maybe we ought to be sure before we go any further," Hermione said, and raised her wand. "Hominum revelio!"

A beat of silence passed.

"Well, you've just had a big shock," Ron said kindly. "What was that supposed to do?"

"She was checking for other people in the house," Rane said, looking amused. Hermione was striding into the house huffily (though she cast a frightened glance at the place on the floor where ghost-Albus had manifested and gave it a wide berth). "Guess it's just us chickens, then."

"Now what?" Harry asked as they followed behind Hermione, who was lighting gas lamps with her wand as she went, emerging at last into the livingroom.

Rane stretched richly, reaching for the ceiling and kicking off her boots. Now that she was here, she felt much better about the whole situation; indeed, she felt almost comfortable. She glanced around at her three companions.

"I say we get a fire going and talk this thing over," she said after a moment. "I think it's a good idea for you guys to stay here tonight. I'm gonna fix us a bite to eat," she added on sudden inspiration. "I dunno about you guys but I'm hungrier than a tick on a teddy bear . . ."

"D'you reckon it's safe?" said Harry, sitting on the moth-eaten sofa.

Rane turned at the kitchen entrance, smirking at him grimly over her shoulder. "I'm a good Auror," she replied unselfconsciously. "It's safe."

Rane reemerged from the kitchen a few minutes later carrying a tray of sliced bread, four glasses and a bottle of glimmering silver liquid. She set it down on the table and sat Indian-style on the floor opposite Hermione, Ron and Harry, who were sitting on the sofa in silence, all of them looking tired and anxious.

Ron dug in at once hungrily, taking two slices of bread and slathering it with the greenish spread on the tray. Harry eyed the food with some trepidation; Hermione, however, looked excited.

"Harry, that's lembas bread!" she exclaimed. "The Galadhrim make it, Professor Binns did a whole lecture on it in History of Magic last year, remember?"

Ron said something unintelligible around a mouthful of bread, spraying Hermione with crumbs. She cast him a revolted look.

"It's not rib-eye or anything," said Rane apologetically, uncorking the bottle and pouring them four glasses. "It'll stick to your ribs though. I like to keep some around for Idril, she loves it."

"What's this?" Harry asked as Rane handed him a glass. "Wine or something?"

"Kind of. It's miruvor."

"What does it do?"

"It's an elixir for strength," said Rane. She sipped her own and shivered, grinning. "Just go easy, it's strong."

Hermione sipped her own tentatively and then flushed, shuddering. "Oh, wow!" she exclaimed. "It's like Pepperup Potion, a bit . . ."

"What's this stuff?" Ron asked. He'd chosen his third slice of lembas and was smearing more of the greenish spread generously onto it. "Some Elvish vegetable or something?"

"That's pesto," said Rane, amused.

"Oh. Right."

A brief silence fell as the four of them ate and drank. Rane's good cheer at being back home had already begun to deflate a little; even her appetite, which had been sharp and restive only a few moments before, had begun to ebb. She dropped her half-eaten lembas onto the tray, brushing her dress off, her brows knit.

"Do you reckon Scrimgeour is really dead?" Harry asked her abruptly.

Rane felt a cold swoop in her belly at the sound of his name. She had all but forgotten about Scrimgeour. She'd never particularly liked him, especially after he assumed Fudge's old job, and if her Wizengamot trial was any indication the feeling had certainly been mutual; still, the idea of him dead was demoralizing, almost stomach-turning. It was far too similar to the way Albus's death had felt; another leader, and a strong one, batted aside as easily as a toy.

"I hope Kingsley made a mistake," she said. "I hope he's okay. But . . . "

"But you don't think so."

Reluctantly, Rane shook her head. "An Auror in his position is dangerous. I'm sure the Death Eaters knew that he wouldn't just step aside." She sighed heavily. "I just hope it was quick."

"What will happen to the Ministry now, do you think?" Ron asked.

Before Rane could answer, Hermione loosed a sudden shriek, startling Harry so badly he slopped half of his miruvor onto his front. A silvery weasel-shaped Patronus came soaring through the kitchen window, lit lightly before them and spoke in Arthur's voice.

"Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.'

Once the message was delivered, the weasel dispersed into nothingness. Ron fell backwards on the sofa, both hands over his face, groaning. Hermione gripped his arm, her own face pale.

"They're all right!" she whispered. Ron laughed weakly.

"Told ya," said Rane, trying to sound light, but she felt the same brittle relief that Ron did. The idea of someone - Molly, perhaps, or Tonks, or Ginny - being hurt or worse had occurred to her more than she cared to admit since they'd left the Burrow.

"Do you have any way to get in touch with them?" Harry asked. "The Order, I mean?"

"Not if they're being watched, no," Rane admitted, refilling his glass of miruvor. "I'd be putting them in danger if I tried. Us too, like as not."

"But my dad said it was just them," Ron pointed out, going for another slice of lembas. The assurance that the Weasleys were safe seemed to have buoyed his spirits as well as his appetite. "He didn't say anything about the Order . . ."

"Well, of course he didn't," said Hermione. "But most of the Order was at the wedding, I bet they know who's in it by now."

"It's possible," said Rane fairly. "Kingsley's probably been outed at the very least, they monitor all the correspondence in and out of the Ministry so that Patronus he sent probably didn't look great. And yeah, anyone at the wedding would be iffy by default, I'd imagine. Mingling with a bunch of blood traitors doesn't exactly scream 'dark wizard sympathizer.' No offense, Ron." She took a draught of miruvor, grimaced, then added bitterly, "I think it's safe to assume dad and I are out of a job. All that work to get reinstated as an Auror and then these assholes show up and ruin it. Figures."

"I bet they'll want Rane and Wade to go over to their side," Ron suggested, but Harry was shaking his head.

"No way. Rane's half-Elf, they'd never go for it."

"Yeah, my dad's nonhuman and I'm like the worst kind of mudblood," Rane agreed. "More likely they'd just want to get rid of us, I'd imagine. Not that it matters," she added, looking darkly amused. "Even if we were both full-on human, we've put so many Death Eaters in Azkaban between us that I'm sure they'd be happier with both of us six feet under."

She caught sight of Hermione's frightened expression and cleared her throat, getting to her feet and polishing off her miruvor in a go.

"Never mind all that crap right now," she said bracingly. "We should try to get some sleep. It's been a shit night."

"I don't want to be on my own," Hermione said, looking between Ron and Harry. "Can we use the sleeping bags I brought and camp in here tonight?"

"Rane, will you stay down here too?" Harry asked, glancing at her.

"Gladly," said Rane, and meant it. She missed Sirius's bed (she still thought of it as his, as theirs, even with him two years gone), but she loathed the idea of leaving Ron, Hermione and Harry alone all night. Especially Harry. "Save your sleeping bags, I'll go dig out some blankets. You guys stake yourselves out a spot and I'll do the rest."

Rane awoke just before dawn, and for a moment she simply lay there, looking at the cobwebby chandelier hanging above her, trying to remember where she was and why. This was decidedly not her little room at the Burrow, and when she instinctively reached to her left for her daughter, a habit she'd developed after she'd placed Idril's cot next to her bed, her fingers touched only the cool, fine-grained stone of the floor. Her neck ached and her mouth was sour and dry, as if she'd been coughing; she felt almost painfully cold, despite the thin blanked she'd cocooned herself in. The fire in the big hearth on the far wall, which had been snapping and crackling healthily when they'd bedded down, was no more than a dim glow of embers, and the room was chilly.

Had she ever fallen asleep in the livingroom of Grimmauld Place? Rane could think of only a single time, when she and Sirius had overindulged in firewhiskey one winter night. They had spent the evening laughing, talking; Sirius had made love to her on the sofa, and they had fallen asleep there, naked, wound around one another beneath Rane's purple afghan. When she had woken the following morning, warm and secure in Sirius's arms and horribly hung over, she had clapped eyes on the dusty chandelier first thing. But Sirius was gone, better than two years in his grave, and that was a long time ago.

It began to come back to her with slow deliberation: the wedding. Scrimgeour dead, Albus dead, Mad-Eye dead. The Ministry, fallen. Voldemort, occupying the regime in his place.

Rane glanced over to her right. Hermione and Ron were fast asleep there, Hermione nestled into a comma on the sofa cushions, Ron on the floor at her side. Hermione's hand was dangling at her side inches from Ron's, and Rane wondered distantly if they'd fallen asleep holding hands. Harry was nowhere to be seen; his own makeshift bed was empty, the blankets thrown aside with impunity.

Rane got to her feet, still clad in the black dress she'd worn to Bill's wedding, noting the sharp protest that came from her lower back. That's what I get for sleeping on the goddamned ground, she thought, placing a hand against her spine grimly. She aimed her wand at the hearth and the fire sprang back to life, sending a wave of blessed heat out that Rane relished on her bare shoulders.

She strode towards the stairway, taking care to tread softly (though judging by Ron's raucous snores, she needn't worry about waking anyone). Through the glass double doors, the sky was light blue and edging towards pink; not quite dawn, she surmised. The two steel patio chairs were visible in the wan light, glimmering with morning dew, and Rane recalled, not for the first time, her first evening with Sirius, sitting there with her legs curled beneath her. His kiss, so out of left field; their night spent together in his bed; the morning following, when he'd come traipsing downstairs looking like the very picture of cheer and good health. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

The stairs were as creaky and grating as ever, but again, Rane's hesitation wasn't warranted; Hermione and Ron did not even stir. Rane wondered for the first time since she'd returned to Grimmauld Place where Kreacher was. He'd avoided her pointedly since Sirius's death, and Rane didn't blame him; she spotted him on occasion scurrying out of the room as she entered, or heard him scuttling about in the attic, but he spoke to her as seldom as he could, and there had been no more muttering about the She-Elf or her spoiled blood; indeed, Rane could count on one hand the number of times she'd spoken to him at all over the last twenty-four months. She could still remember their first encounter after the fact, and she was certain it hadn't endeared her to him.

She had returned from her ventures abroad with her father that evening, exhausted and in bad spirits. Their journeys had not been particularly fruitful; though many of the Elven cities were prepared to side with them in light of Voldemort's return, there were plenty who adopted the same mindset as the Ministry: utter denial, rejection of the possibility, excuses. It had been just better than a week since Sirius's death by the time she finally returned to Grimmauld Place, and things began to change for her as soon as she walked into the door.

Rane had been kept so busy over the last ten days or so that she had been quite distracted from the circumstances; when she'd finally shut the heavy iron door behind her, the fact of Sirius's absence had returned to her in full, lethal force.

It hadn't happened at first; like many of those who experience sudden losses, she experienced no distress at first, only the old familiar happiness at the idea of seeing him again after a long absence. There was the familiar, anticipative swell in her heart at the idea of his voice echoing from upstairs, greeting her - Rane! Is that you down there? - or his lean figure sauntering into the corridor, pulling on a sweater and grinning. The smell of him, the nearness of him, his doglike laugh, were all so familiar that at first her body would not allow itself to reconcile itself with what her brain already knew: Sirius wasn't here, he would be here no longer, and she would find no more comfort in his touch while she lived. It was a curious sensation, something like the feeling slowly coming back into sleeping limbs, and just as excruciating. Later, she cursed her decision to avoid Grimmauld Place for so long after he'd been killed; she'd thought it a mercy upon herself, a way to cope with what had happened, but in truth it was just a glorified procrastination and nothing more. She'd not spared herself the pain of his loss, she'd just reallocated it to a later date, and with the passing time its claws had grown sharp. It served her right.

But it wasn't just Sirius's death. It was more. The knowledge that she was quite alone here in this odd, vast house which didn't belong to her, without any plans for the rest of the night save a bottle of white wine and a few dated issues of the Daily Prophet she'd shoved into her satchel, struck Rane as not just depressing but oppressive. It wasn't even seven o'clock yet. There were hours, hours until she could fall asleep, and before sleep, what would there be? Thoughts of Sirius? Thoughts of Bellatrix? Thoughts of nothing except the barrenness that surrounded her? The evening was a bleak badlands, and she had to negotiate it. Even in a lively place these feelings would have been excruciating.

Rane was thinking these long thoughts in the corridor, her satchel in one hand and her grim face aimed at nothing in particular, when Kreacher limped around one corner.

Master Sirius is gone, he had said, yet the Half-Elf scum is still here.

Rane had regarded Kreacher for a moment in silence. She had never liked him - indeed, after a few weeks in his presence she'd adopted Sirius's notion that he was a nasty creature, hardly worthy of civility, let alone respect - but she'd always stayed out of his way anyways, and admonished Sirius when he spoke harshly to the House Elf. She'd encountered plenty of anti-Elf sentiments, and even more against a half-Elf, and she thought little of them now that she was into her twenties. But Kreacher was . . . Well, he was different to her now. He'd constructed the series of events that led to Sirius's death, and he had done it with full knowledge of what would occur.

She had looked at Kreacher from beneath her brows, her breath suddenly coming in quick bursts. She'd dropped her satchel to the ground with a thud, and had simply stood where she was, legs staggered, glaring at him.

You, she had said softly, don't get to ever . . . Ever say his name.

Kreacher had recoiled at her gaze, taking a step back. Rane had tried to reign in what she felt, but it was futile; he'd caught her in the worst possible moment, and now he would see her full fury, like it or not.

Kreacher did not mean to interrupt, he'd said quietly, still backing away. Kreacher did not -

You call me scum after what you did. Rane spat on the ground, shaking her head, her mouth lifted into a vulpine snarl. You dare speak to me, utinuen'lokirim, you backsliding son of a -

Kreacher did not mean -

You sold him out, Rane whispered, and abruptly her eyes glowed bright blue. A brisk, cold wind rose in the corridor, knocking over the troll's foot near Rane's feet and shoving Kreacher backwards another two steps. You sold him out. On purpose.

Kreacher did not - Kreacher could not! his eyes were wide, his long-fingered hands splayed. Please - please -!

Rane had remained where she was, feeling the power coursing through her and relishing it; it would have been easy, quite easy, to send it out before her like a whip, striking the house elf down before her. She desired it in her bones, deeply; the idea of Kreacher lying dead was satisfying, seemed justified. The sensation of that power rolling through her was so satisfying that it was almost sexual. To give into that power was attractive, horribly attractive; it meant a respite from her grief, an adjournment from the pain that had been suddenly reintroduced to her in the moments she'd reentered Grimmauld Place. She was tired and heartbroken, and that made her dangerous.

But she knew better. She reeled in the waves of force, bringing it back into her, where it resided in her chest like a treacherous flame that wished nothing but to spread. Her eyes flickered back to their usual bright hazel-green, and the sharp, cold wind in the foyer died.

Rane and Kreacher remained where they were for a beat, staring at one another. The only sound was the rain outside, beating against the siding in a steady cadence.

GO AWAY! Rane suddenly screamed, so hard the cords in her neck stood out. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! And then, with renewed vitriol, AMIN DELOTHA'LLE! BACKSTABBING JUDAS PIECE OF SHIT! I'LL KILL YOU IF YOU STAND BEFORE ME A SECOND LONGER!

Kreacher had not needed to be told twice; he'd turned and fled. The house elf had avoided her since. Rane had never told anyone about the encounter, not even Harry.

Now, striding up the stairway that led to her and Sirius's old room, Rane took note of the shiny, dustless quality of the steps and realized that Kreacher was still here, though out of sight, and that he'd been keeping house, surprisingly, something he'd never done with any real conviction while Sirius was alive. She wondered if it was because of his new master - Harry, per Sirius's will - or maybe a feeling of guilt. Either way, it was interesting.

The door to Sirius's room was ajar, and Rane strode towards it, peering inside. Harry was there, kneeling on the floor, a piece of parchment clasped in his hands, his back to her. The room was tossed; it had been searched, and thoroughly. The bed was intact, for the most part - something Rane was fiercely grateful for - but the closet, the drawers and all of Sirius's old boxes were upturned and spread haphazardly across the floor. Before Harry was a box full of parchments, some rolled and some not; the box had been upturned with equity, spreading its contents all over the floor.

"Did you sleep?" Rane said gently, striding into the room. Harry started and looked up at her guiltily.

"I'm sorry, I just woke up and -"

Rane waved this off, kneeling next to him. "You've got as much right to be in here as anyone. Don't apologize."

Harry lowered the parchment, peering around him. Rane followed his gaze, smiling a little. Sirius had adorned his walls with various décor as a teenager; most of it was so commonplace to Rane that she hardly noticed it anymore, but she tried to see it with a new eye, as she was sure Harry was. There were several Gryffindor banners from his Hogwarts days (faded now), a few posters of motorcycles glimmering in the sunlight, and of course Sirius's crème de la crème, three or four spreads of Muggle women in bikinis, many of them lounging on the sand on some beach, others reclining seductively across Harley Davidsons with come-hither smiles on their air-brushed faces. Rane had enjoyed teasing him about these more than once; the memory cramped her chest painfully.

"Have you ever been in here before?" she asked Harry curiously.

Harry shook his head.

"Sirius wouldn't take any of these down," Rane said, smirking. "He put a Permanent Sticking Charm on them all, he said he thought it would piss off his parents. I used to bust his balls about him staring at Bella Hadid every night, but he would just laugh it off."

Rane laughed herself, but there wasn't much humor in it. The sound was bleak.

"He must have hated his family," Harry said quietly.

"He did," Rane agreed. "They were a bunch of hateful fuckers. I know he hated being back here."

A moment passed between them as they stared at the posters on the wall.

"Looks like someone tore this place apart," Rane remarked, sounding sad.

"Yeah." Harry was looking around too. "Wonder what they were looking for."

"Who knows," Rane said softly. "Hopefully they didn't find it. What d'you have there?"

Harry handed her the parchment. It was a letter from Lily Potter - or part of one, anyway; the missive stopped abruptly near the end of the parchment. Rane read it over quickly

"This is from your mom," she remarked.

"Yeah," Harry said, taking the parchment and looking at it reverently. "I dunno, it's weird . . . I've never seen her handwriting before . . ."

"Sirius always spoke very highly of your parents," Rane told Harry. That was a vast understatement; he'd talked about the two of them as if they were divinity, using their names with a curious sort of reverence, not unlike the way Wade spoke of Iliwynn. "I bet he kept most of the letters they sent to each other." She paused, then folded the letter against Harry's chest. "You should keep that."

"I dunno -"

"It's yours, for what it's worth," Rane told him. "If Sirius was here he'd want you to have it. I never knew your parents, I was too young."

"Were you?"

"Yeah, I was like . . . Oh, maybe ten when they died," Rane said thoughtfully. "I remember my dad being really sad about it. He knew them and he liked them a lot. I remember him being upset about Sirius, too, actually," she added. "He was pretty pissed off about it. I wish he'd told me, honestly - I didn't find out until the year before he died."

Harry said nothing. He stuffed the parchment into his jeans, then got to his feet. Rane turned her head to watch him, remaining where she was. Harry was approaching a portion of the wall near the bed. There was a photo on the wall there, contrasting strongly against the Muggle fare in its movement. Rane got lightly to her feet and followed him, looking over his shoulder.

It was a photo of Sirius, James Potter, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigres, circa Hogwarts. They were arm in arm, laughing, amicable and careless, and Rane admired it with a moment of repose the same as Harry; James, a dark-haired boy, clad in the same round glasses his son wore, looking remarkably like his son; Peter, a stout kid with hair the color of rust and watery eyes; Remus, tall and thin with scars already crisscrossing his face; and Sirius, young, dark-haired and impossibly handsome, grinning easily and smugly towards the camera.

"You look just like him," said Rane. She put her arms around Harry's chest and hugged him to her tightly, resting her chin on the top of his head. "Even the glasses."

"So I've been told," Harry replied.

They stood in silence for a few moments, watching the photo with its four happy occupants laughing and shoving at each other.

"We'll figure this shit out," Rane said quietly. Her eyes were on Sirius, so handsome and so long dead. "I promise we will."

"I hope so," said Harry, his voice faint. "I really hope so."


	47. A Small Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane finds Wade and Idril safe at Ylle Thalas, and finds herself in a surprising place

Harry, Hermione and Ron spent the morning speaking together quietly in the living room while Rane prepared breakfast in the kitchen; however, thanks to her Elven heritage, she heard most of it anyways, in spite of her best efforts to make as much noise as possible.

True to form, she tried to ignore it; her father had taught her young that dropping eaves was the height of bad manners, and that as Elves blessed with delicate senses they had to be particularly careful not to be rude. It's like accidentally seeing someone while they change clothes, Wade had said gravely, you mustn't look, because they're vulnerable and you can't take advantage of that, even if they don't know any better. Rane, who might have been eight during this lesson, had thought of how she would feel if someone had seen her without clothes on - how it would feel to be caught in such a helpless and private position - and had flushed at the humiliation of it, thinking that she wouldn't like to make anyone else feel that way if she could help it, not ever.

So this morning, thinking back on that sensation of nakedness and exposure, she tried not to overhear. She crashed pots and pans around, cleared her throat loudly, sang to herself, turned the crackling cast-iron up as far as it would go . . . Yet the conversation carried into the kitchen anyways, as clear as if they were standing right next to her.

After a few minutes of airballing cutlery into the sink from across the room, Rane gave up; no amount of noise was going to drown out the voices in the next room, so she might as well make breakfast instead of destroying the kitchen. They discussed a locket, and Kreacher, and Sirius's brother, Regulus, at great length as the good smells of coffee, bacon and eggs filled the dingy house. In truth, her mood was still quite good; Rane had thrown open one of the patio doors, allowing the pleasant late-summer morning air to waft in, and coupled with the busy work of cooking Rane felt very much at home. It seemed silly to feel that way, really . . . Her father had said it best, it was a better idea to just move on and make new memories. But here she was, relishing the old ones, just like - how had he put it? - like a junkie lapping up her own spew to get high, she thought he'd said. Call it what you will. She would take Sirius where she could get him, even if it was just a faint echo in this grim place.

When breakfast was done - a spread worthy of ten people rather than four, really - Rane, Hermione, Ron and Harry sat around the overlarge and mostly empty dining table of Grimmauld Place eating in relative silence. All of them were ravenous, Rane included - she could remember her father telling her that a single bite of lembas could fill the belly of a grown man for a full day, but they had put away half a loaf between them the evening prior and still woke starving. It was stress, she thought, or maybe fear; any sort of creature comfort was a welcome distraction, and their bodies all seemed to demand some sort of survival-based insurance.

"I think you should call Kreacher," Rane said around a mouthful of bacon after the silence had become oppressive.

Hermione, Ron and Harry all froze, looking up at her.

"I'm half-Elf, I can't not hear stuff," she added, slightly apologetic.

Ron glanced at Harry. "Well," he said tentatively. "Maybe that's not a bad idea, mate."

Harry looked pensively at Rane. "He might be able to answer some questions, I reckon," he admitted.

"Well," said Rane, dumping creamer into her coffee liberally, "you'll have to do it when I'm not around, or he won't be too forthcoming, I'd wager."

"Why is that?" Hermione asked.

"We, uh . . ." Rane considered her verbiage cautiously, the coffee hovering below her lips. "We had an argument. The screamy kind. It got pretty ugly."

"An argument about what?" Ron asked, then answered himself. "Sirius."

"Yep."

"What happened?" said Harry.

Rane shrugged, sipping her coffee and feeling oddly shamefaced.

"Go on, then."

"It was right after . . . You know, Sirius," Rane admitted reluctantly. "I got home and sort of lost my shit on him." She glanced around self-consciously. "He just caught me at a bad time, I was tired and sad and he started doing that thing he does where he walks around and mutters to himself about mudbloods and half-breeds, acting like he doesn't know you can hear him . . ."

Ron and Harry were nodding.

"And I just -" Rane mimed an explosion around her temples. "Went nuclear. He pretty much stayed away from me after that. I've seen him maybe four times since then."

"Maybe a good tirade was what he needed, the git," said Ron approvingly.

"Ron, no!" said Hermione, frowning. She glanced at Rane, slightly apologetic. "I know what he did was horrible, but house elves are just products of their environments, don't you think? I doubt he really means all those awful things he says, he's probably just parroting back what the Blacks would say around him . . ."

"Maybe so," said Rane noncommittally, pushing her eggs around. In truth she thought Hermione had hit the nail on the head, and something else far too unpleasant to utter aloud: that Sirius had treated Kreacher horribly, and in the end he had gotten his pretty just desserts for it. "Either way, you guys can have him all to yourselves this afternoon, I'm going to check on Idril and my dad in Ylle Thalas and see what's what."

"Will you be back?" asked Harry.

"I will, yeah," said Rane at once. She added, smirking, "I do live here, so . . ."

"Yeah, I guess you can hardly stay with mum and dad anymore now that everything's gone to hell," Ron said grimly. "Will you at least make sure everyone's . . . y'know . . . ?"

The unspoken words - still alive - hung between the four of them pregnantly.

"I'm sure everybody's just fine, but I'll make sure."

"You think so?"

In truth Rane thought it would be a blue-eyed miracle if no one was hurt (or worse), but she didn't say so. "Yeah, of course I do. You'll see."

When Rane Apparated at the gates of Ylle Thalas, she was unsurprised to find that the guard had been doubled; four heavily armored Elves stood tall and ominously still, swords sheathed but hands on the hilt nonetheless. She glanced between them as she entered, wondering if they would try to bar her entry - it had certainly happened before - but the foremost merely inclined his head towards her. It seemed that the focus had shifted away from blood treachery and towards more germane enemies.

The streets of the city were busy and crowded; Rane spotted several Elves carrying packs and wearing heavy green traveling cloaks, some tailed by somber-faced young children. They were leaving Ylle Thalas, she surmised as she shouldered her way towards the council quarters; seeking refuge in an Elven conurbation abroad, more than likely. The idea of it was disturbing; this was supposed to be a safe place, a sanctuary. If even the Sindarin were making their way out of the country, it made for ill tidings indeed.

The council wasn't amassed, but the broad, circular balcony where it usually took place was just as busy as the city streets nonetheless. The massive, ancient tree that hung above it was caught in a garish and rather stunning change of color, a gradient of bright emerald green and deep scarlet; some of the early fall leaves had already fallen to the stone floor, where they were drifting into piles with the wind.

"'AMA!" a high-pitched voice cried, and a moment later Rane felt Idril's warm body wrap itself around her thighs. She had been given a white Sindarin tunic to replace the dress she'd worn for Bill and Fleur's wedding the day before, and her inky black hair was braided elegantly into a knot at the nape of her neck; Rane thought that she had never seen such a clearly Elvish little girl in all her life.

She scooped Idril up and hugged her tight, feeling a wave of almost nauseating relief. Idril was crying a little, something she hardly ever did, and when Rane pulled back Idril grasped her face in both of her hands, her bright eyes flicking across her mother's face as if ensuring she was unharmed. The tears in her eyes made her look strangely old.

"I'm sorry, baby girl," Rane said, and planted a kiss on her forehead. "You good?"

"Naneth'nin," said Idril, sounding oddly accusatory. "'Ama gone, 'ama gone, gone -!"

"I had to make sure you were safe, Id," Rane said softly, but she could feel the dim threat of tears of her own settling in her throat. She had never been the subject of her daughter's ire before and it stung rather more sharply than she would have expected. "I'm so sorry, Id, mama is so, so sorry she left you -"

"Oh, thank the lord," a gruff voice said, and then both Rane and Idril were engulfed in Wade's tight embrace as well. He pulled back, grasping her by the shoulders, looking at her critically in much the same way Idril had only moments before. He looked relatively unharmed, though there was a long, painful-looking gash running from his eyebrow to his jaw line. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," said Rane. "Jesus, dad, that's gonna scar . . . What'd you do, get in a fight with a lawnmower?"

Wade stared at her in complete bafflement.

"The, uh . . ." Rane gestured to her own face vaguely.

"Oh!" said Wade, and touched his cheek, wincing a little. "That. Snape got me good when I got back to the Burrow, though I'm fairly sure he wasn't aiming for me. I didn't get my hands on dittany quick enough so I guess my pretty is all spoiled from here on out."

"Sectumsempra?"

"The very same." Wade didn't look terribly interested in discussing his injury at the moment; he was glancing around him, looking restless. "Let's get inside, this place is a madhouse. We've got a lot to talk about."

Rane had not been inside the hospital wing of the Elven capital since Sirius was alive, and it was weird being back; as always, finding herself single in a place where she had been double once before was strange shit indeed. Her eyes went directly to the bed where they'd lain together, then to the balcony, where she had tried for the first and last time to break up with him. It had been snowy then, the thick of winter; now, the forest below was visible as a litany of green and gold beneath a blameless, bright blue Autumn sky. That had been better than two years ago. Time was slippery.

Besides Rane, Idril and Wade, the hospital wing was quite full; many of the beds' occupants were wounded sentries, some of them clearly cursed or hexed. A few of them were sneezing uncontrollably, and two were burned so badly that their faces were barely recognizable. Rane felt a twinge of nausea.

"Where's Iliwynn?" she asked, not because she was particularly curious but because staring at the injured guards gave her a horrid sensation of freefall. "I didn't see her back there."

"Iliwynn's got a capital city in stampede, she's got plenty to worry about without adding us into the mix," Wade replied. He led them towards the balcony, and once they had passed the opening - thankfully out of sight of the injured Elves - he shut the glass door and collapsed onto one of the stone chairs. Rane sat down too, still clutching Idril - she was reluctant to let her go, in truth, and judging by the panicky tightness with which Id was holding onto her shirt the feeling was mutual.

They could have chosen a worse place for a palaver, honestly; the wind was cool and pleasant, and it was shaping up to be a real banger of an afternoon. The sky was blue but oddly misty, a state Rane associated with approaching cold weather. Beneath them, the colorful treetops undulated in the breeze, and the sounds of birdsong and faint horses came to them gently. The air was fragrant with Fall.

Wade leaned back, ran his fingers through his hair, then folded his arms and looked over at his daughter.

"You know, I knew this would happen eventually," said Wade in a tone of bemusement. "I think I knew right from the First War, even after he disappeared, but I tell you, I still just can't hardly believe that it finally did."

Rane nodded. "Feels like a nightmare. Do people know yet?"

"I don't think so. It was pretty seamless and they're saying Rufus quit." Wade snorted. "I don't know who would ever believe the likes of him would just throw in the towel like that, it's a crock. What happened to you? After the wedding?"

Rane told her father briefly what had happened after she, Harry, Hermione and Ron had Disapparated from the Burrow, leaving out the parts pertaining to Horcruxes. By the end of it, Idril's fists had loosened a little, and glancing down Rane saw her eyelids fluttering sleepily, her cheek resting on Rane's shoulder.

"Then I came here this morning to check on you guys," she finished, allowing her voice to drop a little.

"I wonder how the goddamned Death Eaters found y'all in London," Wade mused quietly, stroking his unshaven chin. "Can't have been that they followed you, unless one of them grabbed onto your coattails -"

"Nah, they got there later," Rane agreed. "Hermione made a decent point, maybe Harry's got the Trace still -"

But Wade was already shaking his head. "Can't be. And nobody except the Order knew he was going to be at the wedding, so . . ."

"You don't think someone else in the Order . . ." Rane found she didn't even want to finish the sentence. The thought was too awful to entertain.

"Rane, I sure do hope not," said Wade, looking similarly disturbed, "and unless we find out something solid I'm not even going to think about that. We'll tear ourselves apart thinking that way."

Rane personally agreed and was more than happy to drop the subject. "What about you? What happened?"

Wade leaned forward, his hands dangling between his staggered knees. "Well, I parked Idril here," he said slowly. "Right here in the hospital wing, matter of fact. Iliwynn kept her, I thought she'd be safest with her. Just in case that numb-nuts is still putzing around."

Rane didn't have to ask who he meant by "that numb-nuts" - she, too, had worried about Lordran coming upon Idril and deciding to settle their old score. She was almost certain that Id was impervious to most things that would hurt a human child - fire, most spells, even sharp edges - but the maternal instincts that saturated her deeper self nowadays still protested.

"Did Iliwynn know?" Rane asked Wade. "About the coup?"

"Naturally, yeah," said Wade.

"How?"

"Well, I'd wager that the fifty-odd Death Eaters that showed up at the gates might've clued her in," Wade replied dryly. "As soon as Rufus was dead, they must have come straight here. The ones that weren't going to the Burrow anyways -"

"Why here?"

Wade shook his head. "Fuck knows. Maybe to scare them."

"Looks like it worked," said Rane fairly, glancing down onto the plains below, where half a dozen Elves were riding into the forest on horseback, their steeds saddled with luggage.

"Yeah, they're pretty freaked out," Wade agreed, following her gaze. "If you'd have seen it, Rane, you'd probably be on a horse out of here, too . . . There were so many of them, and they were fighting dirty . . . We finally drove off the last of them after a quarter hour or so, but not before they'd done some damage. You saw those sentries in there."

"Any casualties?"

Wade shook his head. "Not straightaway, but there are two or three Elves inside that might not make it a fortnight without St. Mungo's."

Rane knew which Elves he was referring to. "What was it? Incendio?"

Wade shook his head again. "Fiendfyre."

"Fiendfyre?" Rane stared at him, disturbed. "They used Fiendfyre? Jesus Christ . . ."

"After they were gone, I went back to the Burrow," Wade went on. "Lucky for me I didn't get further than the gate, though . . . They interrogated everyone at the wedding for a couple of hours about Harry, and let me tell you, it was a damn good thing he used Polyjuice because a couple of those Delacours would have definitely cracked -"

"Is everyone okay?" asked Rane.

"Yep," said Wade at once, and Rane released a long, whistling breath of relief. "The Burrow is pretty torn up, they tossed it pretty good, I guess looking for evidence that Harry had been there. After they left the Burrow, they hit most of the places associated with the Order, except for Grimmauld Place, obviously. Tonks' parents were tortured, Dedalus Diggle's house was burned down . . . "

"Christ," Rane murmured again, feeling sick. Idril stirred gently at her shoulder, now soundly asleep.

"If you're thinking of trying for the Burrow, I'd advise strongly against it," said Wade, catching sight of her expression.

"I thought I'd just stop in to let Molly and Arthur know that Ron is safe -" Rane began, vaguely annoyed that her intentions had been so quickly laid bare, but Wade lifted a hand, palm-out, shaking his head.

"Listen, take my word for it, they're fine, all of them," he said firmly. "And although I didn't find any information on it when I went back to work last night, you can bet your bottom dollar they're being watched, they've all got connections to the Order and -"

"Wait, wait, wait a second, hang on," said Rane. "Did you say you went back to work?"

"I did."

"What?" Rane stared at him, bewildered. "Why in the hell would you -?"

"Because," said Wade, "they're expecting me to. I'm a senior Auror. Kingsley and Tonks are going to do the same thing. And so are you."

Rane was so stunned by this statement that for a moment she simply stared at her father.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," she said at last.

"And why is that?" Wade asked her, looking vaguely amused.

"I'm a half-Elf, what makes you think they'd let me just sashay back to my desk?"

Wade leaned forward again, fixing her with a firm look. "The Order," he said slowly, "needs spies inside the Ministry right now, worse than ever. If they let me back in - and they did - they'll let you back in, too. Might not hold up for much longer, but we gotta try while we can. Try and do some damage control, at least."

"That's dangerous as hell. And stupid."

Wade spread his hands. "We gotta."

Rane continued to look at him for a moment in silence. He was right, of course; she had to try. If there was no resistance from inside the Ministry itself . . .

"Is Rufus really dead?" she asked him abruptly, not fully aware that she was going to say it until it was out.

Wade's shoulders sank a little, and he looked at his hands, which were clasped between his knees. "Rumor is that they tortured him for information about where Harry was, but he wouldn't give it up. He was a good guy, Rufus, even if we never saw eye to eye. A damn good guy."

His voice caught a little on the last word, and he cleared his throat gruffly.

"I guess I'll have to let Id stay here for the time being," Rane said. One hand was stroking Idril's black hair gently. "Do you think Iliwynn would -?"

"I already asked her," said Wade. "She's welcome to stay. And to be honest with you," he added a little grimly, "I don't think she should be taken out of here unless we have no other choice. Things are gonna get pretty ugly out there pretty quick. Won't be any kind of place for a little girl."

Rane thought again of Idril's hurt, accusatory words to her - 'Ama gone! - and felt a cramp of guilt in her chest.

"The Order is meeting the day after next," Wade was saying. "It'd be nice if you could make it."

"Where?"

"When we find a place, you'll be the first to know."

Rane sighed deeply, feeling a strange combination of emotions: fear, anxiety, sadness. It was weird how quickly things had gone to shit; it seemed to have taken only a couple of hours for the whole world to be turned onto its head.

"I need to get back," Rane said, handing Idril to Wade and getting to her feet.

Wade took the girl into his arms, where she went on sleeping heedlessly.

"Back to Number 12?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Rane. "And before you say it, I'm pretty sure Snape's already been there. The place was turned over when we got inside. If he could've told the rest of them where the place was, he would have done it by now."

"Sounds like Mad-Eye's curse did its job, then."

"Yeah, I guess it did."

"So you'll stay there?"

"When I can, yeah. I have a feeling there won't be much rest for any of us in the next little while. And while Harry and Ron and Hermione need someplace to hide, it's welcome to them, too. I think it's safe enough for the time being."

They stood in momentary silence. Wade was looking at her closely, as if waiting for her to say more. Rane knew what it was he wanted to ask her well enough, but she remained silent.

"You're not gonna tell me what it is they're doing," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Nope."

"If they go after him, he's liable to eat them alive. You're an Auror, you know that. Seventeen year olds, Rane. Think about it."

"I have," said Rane honestly.

Wade was nodding, chewing his lower lip.

"Do you think the Order could help?"

Rane considered this honestly. "I'm not sure they could," she said after a moment. "This is beyond the Order. And the more people know, the more danger they'll be in."

Wade nodded, accepting this. "Okay. Go on, then. I'll see you at the Ministry."

Rane started towards the hospital wing, but Wade reached out and grasped her wrist tightly. She turned back towards him.

"Your sword's in the foyer, where the council meets," he said. "Take it with you. For an old man's peace of mind."

Rane laughed at this sentiment, as she always did - Wade didn't look a day older than forty and moved with the agility of a teenager - but he didn't smile back. His face was drawn and anxious. It occurred to her, as it sometimes did, that he was an old man, despite what he might look like; though she misremembered the precise digit (Wade kept track halfheartedly himself), he was close to 6600 years old. He'd been born before London had existed, before the continent that they stood upon had even fully formed, before society in any true way had formed; he'd mused sometimes that the number of mortal friends he'd had since his youth numbered into the tens of thousands, and save those alive today, all of them had grown old and perished, leaving him behind again and again. He'd only ever loved one woman, and she had only born one child, and sometimes Rane thought she almost caught a glimpse of the fierce, frightened way he felt towards her, his only progeny, the result of centuries of time's slow passage. She wasn't sure what he would do if something happened to her - it was an idea she pondered on occasion, tempered by her uncertainty regarding her own immortality. Would she walk with him across the ages ahead, or would he go on alone? She didn't know, nor did he, but she sensed his worry for her life sometimes, which was carefully mitigated on the surface but more closely resembled true terror beneath.

Rane squeezed his hand, nodding.

"I'll take it. And here's hoping I won't need it. I'll see you soon, dad."

Rane's first trip to the Ministry after the Ministry's coup de grace was far smoother than she would have ever imagined; indeed, the place appeared not the slightest bit different on a glance. The foyer that morning was as busy and crowded as ever, the Ministry officials all for the most part unaware of anything amiss; they meandered towards their offices, bleary-eyed, clutching coffee and nibbling at cauldron cakes. Rane strode through them towards the Auror's Office with clear caution, moving slowly, her eyes flicking warily here and there. But no one seemed the slightest bit worried for her presence there -

Except that was not exactly true. On the balcony above them, a handful of figures in black cloaks were leaning over the railing, eyeing the crowds beneath them, looking relaxed and at ease. All of them were watching her closely, their faces shadowed in the dim. Rane didn't recognize the first three, but a few of the fourth's features were discernible vaguely in the low light, and she thought it might be Selwyn. Death Eaters, then. Their eyes glittered down at her, malevolent and watchful.

She lowered her head and hurried on, one hand gripping her wand in her pocket with panicky tightness. Their presence seemed to solidify what was happening more than anything had before. The Ministry had fallen, and now they were trapped in the belly of the beast.

She wondered with a twinge of fear if Voldemort was in the building, too.

The Auror's Office was stiff, silent and tense as Rane sat down at her desk, moving aside the accumulation of memos and letters that had been stacked onto it in her absence. She wasn't surprised to find it so far removed from its usual bustle of laughter and conversation; Aurors were a curious caste, far more sensitive to nuance than most, and she was sure that even if her colleagues weren't all privy to the clandestine change of management, they could certainly tell that something was badly amiss nonetheless. She caught Kingsley's eye from across the room; he gave her a slight nod, looking troubled, and she returned it, trying to put into the small gesture some indication of her gratitude for the warning he had sent to Bill's wedding. The risk he'd taken must have been monumental.

She bent over her work, her brow furrowed, shuffling through the assignments given to her and wondering how many enemies surrounded them that very moment.


	48. Remus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimmauld Place has a visitor

When Rane returned to Grimmauld Place that evening, taking care to Apparate as close to the front door as she could and vanish inside before she was spotted, Ron and Hermione were at the dinner table already, poring over goblets of _miruvor_ and looking grim. Harry was pacing near the sink, gnawing at his fingernails and staring moodily out the window.

"You guys okay?" Rane asked, glancing between them hesitantly. She set down a heavy, grease-stained brown bag onto the table. "I brought some food that's not lembas, if you guys are peckish . . ."

"What is it?" Ron asked curiously, peering into it.

"Burgers," Rane replied, pulling off her cloak. "Far cry from Texas but better than Elven bread for two nights in a row, anyways -"

"Will you tell us now?" Harry interrupted brusquely.

Rane sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. Come over here and sit down."

She had returned to Grimmauld Place the prior evening to all three of her companions fast asleep in various places on the couch and floor of the livingroom, and so had decided against waking them with evil tidings; they were still young, though it might sometimes be difficult to bear in mind, and youth demanded rest even in the direst of circumstance. Harry, however, had cornered her as she rushed out of the front door the following morning, well before dawn, caught oddly between clear exhaustion and grave worry for the rest of their faction. She'd spurned his furious demands, citing the hour ( _It's not even sunrise, Harry, go back to sleep and I'll tell you everything tonight_ ) and he had slackened somewhat, but his angry, desperate countenance had followed her out the door.

Harry made his way to the table, slid a chair out and sat down. Ron had seized a pair of cheeseburgers and was unwrapping them with clear relish. Hermione had folded over the cover of her book slowly and was watching Rane with an apprehensive expression. Rane looked between she and Harry for a moment, then reached into the bag and tossed them each a burger as well.

"Eat," she instructed them, trying to sound imperious. "Seriously, you need something besides bread and booze, we've been eating like a bunch of hobos. C'mon."

Hermione pulled her own towards her, looking at it uncertainly. She paused halfway through unwrapping it, looking at Rane with tears sparkling in her eyes.

"Rane, is everyone alright?" she asked in a very quiet voice.

Rane sank into a chair and clasped her hands before her on the table, eyeing the three of them solemnly.

"Yes," she said. "Not so much as a scratch between them."

"Lupin too?" Harry asked. "And Ginny?"

"Yep."

Harry sighed raucously, leaning back in his chair and dragging his fingers down his face.

"It's a blue-eyed miracle," Rane went on, speaking with honesty. "By all rights I shouldn't be able to tell you that, but there it is. We got lucky. Everybody did."

"Where is everyone at now?" Harry asked.

"I have no idea. My dad and Id are in Ylle Thalas, but as for the rest of them -"

"So what are we _doing_?" Harry asked, sounding heated. His still-wrapped burger sat untouched before him on the table. "What's being done to _stop_ him?"

Rane sat in silence for a moment, her eyes locked with his. Her appetite for the burger before her had departed. Ron and Hermione, both mid-bite, were frozen, watching this exchange uneasily.

"Harry, there's nothing we _can_ do yet," Rane said at last. "We hardly know anything. I think some of the Aurors _feel_ like something is wrong, but I don't think anyone outside the Order actually knows what's happening… my dad thinks most of the ministry swallowed the story that Rufus resigned."

"But how could they?" Hermione burst out, looking devastated. "He wouldn't have done something like that -!"

"I know," said Rane, nodding. She reached across the table and squeezed Hermione's hand for a moment, looking into her eyes. "There's just not a lot we can do right now. We're trying to fit in. Make ourselves small, so we can watch. You understand?"

Hermione nodded, but her eyes were large. "I suppose so. I just… Oh, I wish they wouldn't be so _stupid_!"

"Me too."

"So what's being done?" Harry asked again. "Are the Aurors -?"

"Harry, we aren't going to be sent after Death Eaters, if that's what you're wondering," said Rane bleakly. "They've taken everything related to them out of the agenda. All the assignments I was given today were for Muggle-born recon, and if that isn't a sign of the times I don't know what is. I think they're trying to round them all up."

"Why?" Hermione cried.

"I dunno. Records? Getting them out in the open?" Rane shrugged. "Could be any number of things, but I'm sure whatever it is isn't nice, knowing the way they feel about blood purity."

"But certainly you won't _hurt_ any of them -!" Ron began, outraged.

"Of _course_ not!" said Rane at once, giving him a shocked look. "I don't think _any_ of us will, but what I'm trying to say is that we're just cogs now in a bigger machine. We don't have any real authority anymore."

"I thought Aurors were sort of a big deal at the Ministry," said Hermione.

" _Were_ , yeah," said Rane, shaking her head. "There's not -"

She stopped suddenly, cocking her head to one side, listening. Ron, Hermione and Harry stared at her, bewildered; a moment later, however, there was the unmistakable sound of the locks at the front door of Grimmauld Place sliding open, then the creak of the hinges.

All of them were on their feet in an instant. Rane and Harry had both drawn their wands.

"Oh, what if it's _Snape_?" Hermione hissed. Ron had moved closer to her.

"It's not," said Rane, though she hadn't the slightest clue who it was. "You guys just stay here - _Harry_!"

Harry was already moving towards the front door, his wand held at the ready. Rane followed after him hastily.

In the corridor, the sound of Albus's ghostly manifestation, now familiar, came to Rane dimly, and she felt the cold draft of his passage. The figure at the end of the hall was cast in shadow, but she heard a voice utter, "It was not I who killed you, Albus," and the ghostly figure disappeared in a bloom of silvery particles. Rane's wand was extended, but Harry was faster.

"Don't move!" he shouted loudly.

The figure came forward into the low light regardless, and Rane felt a burst of relief to see Remus's face, cast half in shadow, looking at Harry's wand cautiously.

"Hold your fire! It's me, Remus Lupin!"

"Oh, thank goodness!" Hermione cried from behind Rane, but neither she nor Harry had lowered their wands.

"Where did we meet?" Rane asked sharply, glaring down the shaft of her wand.

Remus froze, eyeing the two wands aimed at him. "At the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix we both attended after you were inducted by Albus Dumbledore," he said at once. "You asked me if you knew me from somewhere, and I said only if you paraded about at midnight during the full moon. You didn't think that was terribly funny," he added, smirking. "But you laughed anyway, just to be polite."

Rane lowered her wand, then placed one hand on top of Harry's, forcing it down.

"It wasn't funny, but yeah, I did laugh," she said, pocketing her wand and striding forward. "You aren't funny at all, not even a little bit."

She reached Remus and threw her arms around him, hugging him to her tightly, her hands clasped at the small of his back. She felt him hugging her back, just as strongly.

"Oh man, I missed you," said Rane, pulling back and grasping Remus's face in both of her hands, a very Idril-esque gesture. "Are you okay?"

"Quite," said Remus, grasping Rane's hands in his own at each cheek. "And you?"

"I'm good, I'm good. Idril and dad are, too, they're safe in Ylle Thalas for now."

Remus craned his neck over her shoulder at Harry. "No sign of Severus, then?"

"No," said Harry. "What's going on? Is everyone okay?"

"Yes," said Remus, "but we're all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside -"

"We know -"

"I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to ensure that they would not see me. They can't know you're in here or I'm sure they'd have more people out there; they're staking out everywhere that's got any connection with you, Harry. Let's go downstairs, there's a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened after you left the Burrow."

"Well, there's a lot to tell here too," said Rane. "Come on."

Twenty minutes later found them sitting at the long table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, a genial fire crackling in the hearth courtesy of Hermione. Remus had brought a few bottles of butterbeer, but after Rane produced the now half-empty carafe of _miruvor_ , they were relegated to the far end of the table where they sat forgotten, sweating fat beads of moisture. A fresh half-loaf of _lembas_ was sitting before them, mostly untouched by anyone except for Remus; it seemed that everybody was getting a little burned out on it, Rane included. Both Harry and Hermione had at last begun the Herculean task of putting their burgers away (Ron had polished off three) and both seemed somewhat more relaxed now that Remus was here. Rane knew that they likely viewed him as a sort of authority figure, having once been his students at Hogwarts, and she was more than happy to pass the mantle of the only adult in the situation over to someone else for a few minutes.

". . . And then we Apparated here, once we knew their memories were wiped," Ron was saying, fingering his glass. "It was mad, we thought they were going to kill all of us -"

"Did you think that?" Rane asked him, smirking at him around her own goblet. "I thought I did pretty good, all things considered . . ."

"No, you were brilliant!" Ron said at once. Hermione cast him a dark glance, and he drew back a touch, reddening. "I mean, as Aurors go, you know . . ."

"I just wish I knew how they found us," said Harry.

"Hermione had a really good point about the Trace maybe still being on Harry," Rane said fairly. Hermione flushed a little, looking pleased. "I think we'd have noticed if somebody put it back on him, though, and they'd need Ministry approval . . ."

"Impossible," Remus said, shaking his head. Ron threw a vindicated look towards Harry. "Apart from anything else, they'd know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace on him, wouldn't they? But I can't see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that's worrying, really worrying."

"If it wasn't the Trace, and they don't know we're here, it must have been a one-time thing," said Rane, rolling a strand of her hair between her fingers thoughtfully. "I just wish to God I knew what it was. Maybe they just got lucky."

"Well, in any case," said Remus, "the Ministry is compromised, we can't trust anything that comes out of it anymore. There's no telling what sorts of charms they have the authority to place now -"

"Why didn't Voldemort declare himself Minister of Magic?" asked Ron.

Remus laughed.

"He doesn't need to, Ron. Effectively he _is_ the Minister, but why should he sit behind a desk at the Ministry? His puppet, Thicknesse, is taking care of everyday business, leaving Voldemort free to extend his power beyond the Ministry. Naturally many people have deduced what has happened: There has been such a dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that Voldemort must be behind it. However, that is the point: They whisper. They daren't confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very clever game. Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: Remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty, and fear."

"It's true," said Rane, nodding. "You can tell things are different, but at the same time . . . " She shook her head. "It was seamless. It really was."

"There's more," said Remus, reaching into his robes. He produced a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ which he pushed towards Harry on the tabletop, looking apologetic. Harry's face stared out at them, taking up most of the front page. All four of them peered down at the lurid headline that accompanied it:

**Wanted for Questioning about the Death of Albus Dumbledore**

Hermione and Ron both roared in dismay, but Rane glanced at Harry, who had simply slumped back in his chair, looking weary but not particularly surprised. Rane herself wasn't, either; it was a fair enough angle, just pragmatic enough to stand up. After all, Albus had died in isolation at the top of the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, and the only person who had left it with a tale to tell - aside from Severus, of course - was Harry. And he already had quite a reputation for emerging from dangerous situations with large and difficult-to-believe stories. She reached out and grasped his hand briefly.

"You have to understand what they're trying to do," she said quietly. She glanced at Remus briefly, who was watching her, a grim expression on his face. "It's all strategic. They went for you because people would have rallied to you."

"That's exactly right," said Remus, nodding. "Now that Albus is gone, nothing would pose a greater threat to the takeover than a uniting point, and who better than The Boy Who Lived? And to suggest you had a hand in Albus's death, Harry . . . You see how brilliant it is. He is sowing doubt among Wizardkind in the hopes that their fears will stop them from confiding in one another . . . It's isolation, and it's an effective tool."

He sighed and added, "Meanwhile, the Ministry has begun moving against Muggle-borns."

He pointed at the _Prophet_. "Turn to the next page."

Rane, who had stayed well clear of the _Prophet_ for quite a long time now, peered down curiously as Ron turned to page 2. Hermione shouldered him aside at once, leaning over the paper, her eyes darting back and forth. After a moment, wearing an expression of utmost contempt, she began to read aloud.

"' _Muggle-born Register,_ '" she said. "' _The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called_ " _Muggle-borns,_ " _the better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets_. _Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force. The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission._ '"

For a moment all five of them sat in horrified silence, staring at one another.

"People won't let this happen," said Ron at last, shaking his head.

"It _is_ happening, Ron," said Remus. "Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we speak."

"This makes a lot of sense," said Rane. She glanced at Remus. "We were given some assignments to stake out Muggle-borns in the office this morning. I thought they might be planning something shitty, but a _register_ . . ."

"It was only a matter of time before the new regime placed these ideals into policy," said Remus. "We knew the Death Eaters hated those who aren't Pureblood -"

"Then how can _you_ be sure you'll be safe at the Ministry?" Harry suddenly shot at Rane. "You said so yourself, you're like the worst kind of Mudblood!"

"I'm _not_ sure," she admitted. "But I have to try."

Remus was looking at her too. "He has a good point, Rane. You and Wade could be in a great deal of danger -"

"Well, we're _all_ in a great deal of danger, aren't we?" Rane replied, more sharply than she had intended. "What do you expect us to do, just turn in our resignation notices and prance on out the front door?"

"Yes!" said Harry.

" _We_ _need_ _spies_ _inside_ _the_ _Ministry_ ," said Rane, enunciating each word and locking eyes with him. "How many of the Order is inside now? Four or five? How many of us do they know about? Arthur, he's had ties to the Order since the First War, they know about him - Kingsley, him too, and my dad - Tonks, me, and who else? Our resources are so limited, we have to use what tools we've got until we can't anymore, or how else will we know what they're up to?"

"They might kill you, Rane -!"

"They might, yeah, but the Order is more important than me, Harry!"

Harry fell backwards into his seat. He was looking at her with a curious, almost desperate expression on his face, and Rane suddenly recognized it for what it really was - not anger or confusion but genuine fear for her life. He had lost every adult in his life that had even resembled a parent so far, and the deaths of Albus and Sirius were both surely still very near to him. Now here was Rane, who had assumed a curious affiliation with Harry owing at first to her relationship with Sirius and then developing further on its own in his absence - into a sort of eccentric aunt-and-nephew thing, if you would. They had grown very close indeed, a fact stressed by both the steady (sometimes torrential) quality of their correspondence when they were apart and their obvious familiarity when they weren't. Now Rane was facing a situation that could quite viably claim her life, and Harry was worried about her, simple as that. She felt a surge of impatience with herself for not seeing it earlier.

"Look, I know how to take care of myself," she said to him, her voice now humble. "If they tried to mess with me, I'd give them a good fight. You know I would, Harry. I'll be okay."

"How do you _know_ that?" Harry said loudly, slapping at the tabletop open-palmed. The goblets and the flask of _miruvor_ rattled. "How do you _know_?"

"Because I'm an Elf," said Rane, trying to sound confident. "I'm better than they are at this kind of thing." She paused, then added, "and because I have Idril and you to worry about now."

Harry was silent, but his expression was clearer than anything spoken could have been: he didn't believe her, and he wouldn't, no matter what she said to try and justify herself. He had been burned too many times before to trust the fire again. Rane didn't doubt that Sirius, the reigning champion of hubris and glib grandiosity in dangerous situations, had likely imparted the same sentiments to his Godson many times; perhaps Albus had, too. After hearing _I'll be fine, I can handle it_ just prior to so many tragedies, anyone would grow distrustful of it. She stared back at him, feeling a trifle helpless; how do you argue with a teenager about something like this, especially one like Harry? She hadn't a clue; her early motherhood had not prepared her for such a task yet, nor had her short life.

Remus was watching their exchange, looking thoughtful. He was looking at Harry in particular, stroking his unshaven chin.

"Harry, Rane is a skilled Auror," he said gently. "And she's an Elf, which makes her even more dangerous. I would put my money on her over any number of Death Eaters." He paused, smirking, then added, "she once saved our lives from several of them single-handedly outside of London, not so long ago. Do you recall?"

Rane, who could remember the dusky forest outside of Ylle Thalas on the eve that she had first evinced the powers of a Peredhil to her fellow Order members, nodded.

"You said it yourself, Harry," she added. "When you asked me if I would go after Bellatrix, the night after Sirius died. You said I could kill them all if I wanted to. Remember that?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, you were right," she said. "I _could_ kill them if I wanted to. Easily."

"Then why don't you?" Ron asked her fervently. "Just blow up, like you did at the Ministry that night . . . "

"Don't be ridiculous," said Hermione. "If she did that, the Ministry would come after her and she'd go to Azkaban . . ."

"There is also the matter of the public at large being aware of what Rane is capable of," Remus added. "I feel certain she would evoke a great deal of fear if she were to march into the Ministry tomorrow and begin laying Death Eaters to waste, regardless of her intentions . . ."

"Exactly." Rane was nodding. "Time and place. Point being, if they try to come at me, they're gonna have a bad time."

A rather grim silence fell between them. Rane had no doubt that all of them, herself included, were imagining her using her powers to disintegrate a host of Death Eater assailants. The idea made her uncomfortable; she thought she might know how a tame but powerful animal must feel being muzzled in polite company. _We know you don't_ seem _dangerous just now_ , it seemed to whisper, _but we also know you could tear us to pieces if the fancy took you, so this is for our own peace of mind, in case you decide to show your teeth_.

Remus was watching Harry, a curious expression on his face.

"I'll understand if you can't confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission," he said at last.

Rane and Harry exchanged a significant glance. Her eyebrows were raised questioningly - _Can we tell him?_ \- but he was shaking his head minutely, barring no uncertainty. It was as simple as that. She sat back, remaining dutifully silent. Harry was the boss on this one.

"He did," Harry replied, "and Ron and Hermione are in on it and they're coming with me."

"Can you confide in me what the mission is?"

"I can't, Remus, I'm sorry." Harry looked apologetic but not remorseful. "If Dumbledore didn't tell you I don't think I can."

"I thought you'd say that," said Lupin, looking disappointed. "But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to."

"What about Tonks?" said Rane bluntly.

Remus's face changed at once. Rane had never seen him look that way when the subject of Tonks came up - in fact, quite the opposite; he usually fostered an expression of affection and pride when her name was mentioned. This one was different; it was grim, indifferent, almost reviled.

"What about her?" he said.

"Well, she's your wife," said Rane quietly, watching him with growing bewilderment. "How does she feel about you taking off like that?"

"I don't think she figures into this at all, quite frankly," said Remus, sounding as if this question had only just occurred to him. "She has quite enough to keep her busy at the moment."

"Well, not with work," said Rane.

This much was true; Tonks's desk was notably empty that morning, and now that Rane thought of it, she hadn't seem her in the Auror office for quite some time now. A few weeks? A month? Rane wasn't sure. And it wasn't in her character to take many absences, Tonks was notoriously and vocally enthusiastic about her duties as an Auror.

"She's perfectly safe," said Remus vaguely. "She's at her parents'."

"The ones who were just tortured for Harry's whereabouts?"

Remus's face tightened. "Yes."

"Remus," said Hermione, sounding cautious, "is everything alright with . . . You know . . . With you and -?"

"Everything is fine, thank you," said Remus pointedly.

Hermione turned pink. There was another pause, an awkward and embarrassed one, and then Remus said, with an air of forcing himself to admit something unpleasant, "Tonks is going to have a baby."

"Oh, how wonderful!" squealed Hermione.

"Excellent!" said Ron enthusiastically.

"Congratulations!" said Harry.

Rane, who had guessed this good news a few days before, merely watched Remus closely, not saying anything. He gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then said, "So . . . do you accept my offer? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe that we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined."

"Wait a second," said Rane, her voice rising. "You're going to _leave_ her?"

Remus's face fell at once into something rather formidable.

"Tonks will be fine," he said. His tone was almost dismissive.

"You didn't answer me," said Rane, her voice low.

Remus's eyes were locked with hers, gray on hazel, neither of them backing away.

"She'll be perfectly safe there, they'll look after her," he said. He spoke with a finality bordering on indifference. "Harry, I'm sure James would have wanted me to stick with you."

"Well," said Harry slowly, "I'm not. I'm pretty sure my father would have wanted you to look after your own kid."

Remus stood up so suddenly he knocked the chair he'd been sitting in over with a clatter. Both Rane and Harry stood too, on the offensive.

"He's right, you can't do that to her, Remus," said Rane loudly. She could not ever remember being angry with Remus, but she was angry with him now - indeed, not just angry but _furious._ Tonks was her friend, her colleague, and the thought of him leaving her to her pregnancy alone - a state Rane had endured on her own not so very long ago - was infuriating, insulting.

"So you're just going to dump your wife and kid to come adventure with us?" Harry said next to her, and Rane glanced aside to see Harry staring at Remus with the same angry expression she was. "Is that it?"

"I shouldn't have married her at all!" said Remus, angry himself now. He looked undeniably wolflike now in his defensiveness. He kicked the chair he had knocked over and it flew, striking the stone wall inches away from the hearth. "And now, the idea that I may have passed on my affliction to my child - the pain, the torment I might have bestowed onto someone else - !"

"It's a little late to be thinking that way, Remus," said Rane. "In fact it's a _lot_ late, you've got a wife and a kid and now you've got to face up to it, regardless of how it turns out -"

"I am a _werewolf!"_ Remus shouted at her. "You don't know how they see me outside of the protection of the Order, when we aren't around people that know what I am and accept me -!"

"Oh, so Idril and I are a totally different story, huh?" said Rane, just as loudly. Her heart was hammering. She batted aside the flask of _miruvor_ on the table, and it hit the wall in a tinkling splash of glass and liquid. "That's news to me, Remus -!"

"You say I should have thought of this before I married Tonks and conceived a child with her," Remus bellowed. "But did _you?_ Did _either_ of you think of Idril before she was born? What she would be? _"_

Rane stared at him unbelievingly for a moment, breathing quickly, unable to fathom that he had gone this far.

"I thought I was sterile," she said, now very quiet. "And you don't get to talk about my daughter like that."

"I'd have never believed it," said Harry at her side, "the man who taught me to fight Dementors, a coward -"

Before Harry had finished, Remus was raising his wand, and Rane, hardly believing what she was doing, drew her own wand and waved it at once before Harry. A bright silvery shield appeared, throwing a reddish spell aside, which struck the wallpaper with a ringing sound. Harry stared at Remus in disbelief.

"HEY!" Rane shouted, her wand still held at arm's length. "What the fuck are you _doing!? He's a kid, Remus!"_

Remus stared at her a moment, then turned and made for the door. Rane went for him, almost running, and caught him just before the door to Grimmauld Place, where, for the first time ever, he raised his wand to her as she skidded before him.

She stared at the tip of his wand, then into his eyes, unable to believe that Remus, a friend so close to her that he was almost a brother, had raised a wand to her. Both of them were breathing hard.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Rane asked him quietly.

He stared at her for a moment, appearing to be on the verge of speaking, then with a swift motion pocket his wand and strode out the door. Tt shut behind him with a declamatory snap.


	49. Rane Gets Fired Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's happened twice, now . . .

Rane did not see Remus for a very long time after the argument at Grimmauld Place; he didn't come calling again, and Rane certainly did not seek him out. Like Harry, she was as angry with his attempt to leave Tonks as she was with his behavior; pulling his wand on her - and worse, on Harry, a young man not out of his teens - was unconscionable. More, what he had said about Idril - the not-so-subtle suggestion that she and Sirius had plunged headlong into the responsibilities of parenthood without giving her blood heritage any thought - weighed heavily on Rane's mind, mostly because he was right. But of _course_ Idril hadn't been a planned article - not due to deliberate negligence but the facts as Rane knew them. She had never questioned her own sterility, from the very first time she had realized, around the age of 13, that biologically she shouldn't be able to reproduce. She'd asked Wade about it at last, hesitant to bring such a personal and decidedly female problem to her male parent but disheartened and determined enough to do it anyway.

 _I read an article about a liger today_ , she'd begun hesitantly. They were eating together some Autumn night, just the two of them at their little dinner table like always.

 _The hell is a liger?_ Wade asked her around a mouthful of rice, looking amused.

 _It's when a lion and a tiger have kittens_ , Rane explained, keeping her face carefully neutral. _That's what they call it, it's like part of both their names - lion, tiger, liger, get it?_

_Why not tigons? Why'd it have to be ligers?_

_I dunno, probably because tigons sounds dumb,_ said Rane, rolling her eyes and smirking.

 _I guess_. Wade chewed and eyed her over his plate. _What about ligers did you read, girl?_

 _Well_ , Rane had said, pushing broccoli around her plate, _I read that there were two of them, a male and a female, and they were at this zoo somewhere in Sweden or Iceland or something . . . They bred them and now they just live there, so people can come to see them. Cool, right?_

Wade, a forkful of chicken hanging halfway to his mouth: _I guess it's cool, sure._

 _Well, after I read about them I was like, how cool would it be if they had . . . Like . . ._ Baby _ligers, right_? Rane pressed on. She was looking at her plate, still keeping her voice blithe. _I just kept thinking about it all day, that baby ligers would be such a crazy thing to see, I wondered what they would look like and if they were cute. So finally I looked up liger babies._

Recognizing this as more than idle banter, Wade had set his fork down and watched her closely. _And what did you find out?_

 _Well, so liger babies don't exist_ , said Rane. She finally looked up at her father, her eyes hesitant and cautious. _There are no baby ligers, because ligers are sterile. They can't reproduce because they're . . . they're, um . . ._

She tapped the tabletop in frustration, having clearly lost the word.

 _Hybrids_ , Wade supplied.

 _Yes_! Rane said at once, nodding. _Hybrids. Half one thing and half something else._

They looked at one another for a moment, father and daughter.

Rane said, _So_ , _I'm a hybrid?_

 _Yep_. Wade was nodding.

 _So I can never have kids, either_? Rane asked, suddenly blunt.

Wade had looked at her for a very long moment, somewhat taken aback by this very adult question coming from his teenage daughter's mouth.

 _Well_ , _Rane, I just can't say for sure one way or another_ , he had said, speaking slowly and carefully, very aware that his kid had probably rehearsed this conversation in her head for the whole day and would take what he said as scriptural truth (and he was right - Rane never forgot what he told her that night). _There are exceptions to every rule, and your situation is very unique. Elves and humans, they aren't as different as lions and tigers are. When that time comes, you might be surprised. But historically, baby, you're right. Hybrids can't reproduce._

Rane had accepted this (not without regret) as a fact of her life, and had never questioned it again after that night. Nor had she ever been given reason to doubt it; there had been men, and ample opportunity, but no children. Not until Sirius, and why it should have been him had been a source of frequent musing for Rane; in a deeper part of her mind, a hidden part where she kept her carefully manicured Elven superstition, she suspected that it could _only_ have been him, for reasons she didn't understand, and that if she had never met Sirius, there would have been no children for her, then or ever.

As the late summer wore on, Rane called on Ylle Thalas frequently to visit her daughter, but she never took her away from the Elven city, and with good reason. The Ministry was changing rapidly, and not in the favor of the Elves. On the first of September, all the rights that had been afforded to the Sindarin and their constituents by Rufus Scrimgeour only a few months past - rights that included their inclusion into the wizarding world as more than just what the original Article B classified them as (Creatures of Near-Human Intelligence) - were revoked indefinitely.

Rane had only just sat down at her desk when the memo flitted through the office and lit before her, neatly folded and sealed with the stamp of the Ministry (at least they hadn't changed _that_ yet, though Rane was sure it was in the works). She snatched it up, tore it open, and scanned it quickly, her eyes moving back and forth:

_By Decree of the Ministry for Magic,_

_Effective immediately, all non-human and near-human magically-abled Ministry staff members are henceforth required to register with the Director of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, Corban Yaxley, before end of day. Failure to do so will result in punitive action. Please surrender wands and any other weaponry to your immediate superior prior to registry._

Beneath this not-so-subtle missive was the insignia of the Ministry; there was no signature or ordering official, but Rane knew well enough who it was that had likely given birth to it nonetheless.

 _'Please surrender wands and any weaponry_.' Rane read this sentence over again, her pulse quickening. ' _Any other weaponry.' They mean swords. Of_ course _they mean swords. Who else has 'other weaponry' in this building? Who else is near-human? Goblins, maybe?_

That was a crock. Goblins stayed as far away from the Ministry as they reasonably could. They were a far cry from Ministerial staff, associated only by necessity due to the association of the Ministry and Gringotts; moreover, Rane didn't think she had ever seen an armed Goblin gallivanting around in either place -

"Get your stuff, we're leaving," said a brusque voice close to Rane's ear. She was startled out of her frowning scrutiny so badly that she jumped, sending a sheaf of paperwork - almost all muggle-born recon - onto the floor in a fluttering sheet.

" _Jesus_ , dad!" she hissed, frightened and annoyed at finding herself so. "You scared the fuck out of -!"

"Get your stuff," Wade repeated, his voice low and rough. "Now. _Now_ , Rane."

"Look, I just read it too, but if we just run out of here, it'll look like we -!"

"We _might_ have five minutes," Wade murmured. "And yeah, it'll look like we're making a run for it because that's exactly what we're doing. If we don't get out of here right now, we're gonna have to fight the whole building, and we're good but we're not _that_ good, we'll get Azkaban only if we're lucky and you've got a kid waiting for you. So _get - your - shit_ ," he repeated for the third time, enunciating each word harshly, "and _let's - go_!"

Several people had glanced over at Rane's desk when her paperwork had gone onto the floor; so, too, did Yaxley, who had taken to patrolling the Auror's office at his leisure ever since his promotion to Thicknesse's old position. His light-colored eyes appeared over the rim of his vicar-like collar, suspicious and unfriendly.

" _Now_!" Wade hissed. And now, Yaxley was making his way towards them, his long robes swishing behind him.

Rane snatched her wand off of her desk and stood so quickly her chair clattered over behind her. Several heads turned. She turned towards her father, who was already striding out of the office, and followed him hastily.

"Roth!" a cold voice called behind her. Rane glanced backwards; Yaxley was closing on them, and now he was reaching into his pocket, undoubtedly for his wand -

"Go!" a sharp voice hissed. Kingsley had stood from his own desk and was staring wild-eyed at Rane and Wade as they passed. " _Hurry!_ "

"ROTH! STOP THERE!"

"RUN, RANE!" Wade shouted, and Rane fled at his heels. They exited the office just as a bright, crackling flash of red light flew over Rane's head, near enough for her to smell the ozone of the spell. It hit the far wall with a glassy crash, sending sparks outward in a flashing bloom.

The two of them ran for it. Rane's right hand was gripping her sword's hilt tightly, ready to draw, but she daren't look around; the sound of pounding footsteps behind them was loud, and it wasn't just Yaxley coming after them now, either.

They reached the golden lift, and Rane skidded to a halt, staring backwards. She was astonished at what she saw; not one or two but at least six figures were running after them, all of them with wands drawn. Yaxley was at the fore, his mouth drawn down into an ugly sneer.

"HALT, OR I WILL FIRE!" he bellowed, but clearly he wasn't about to wait for their demure surrender for that because another spell, this one bright yellow, streaked towards them. Wade's sword was drawn in the space of a second, flashing in the close quarters of the lift; the spell ricocheted off of its steel shaft, sending it flying back at their aggressors. They ducked as a unit, and the spell instead hit an unlucky inter-office memo which had been fluttering overhead nearby; it burst into ashes at once in a flash of blue flames.

"HIT IT!" Wade shouted, and Rane mashed the button open-palmed; the gates closed at once with a metallic thwack, and then they were descending quickly. Their attackers, still staggering to their feet, watched their progression. A few of them turned and began jogging towards the opposite end of the hallway, clearly for the other lift.

"Christ!" Rane gasped, staring at her father. "What the _fuck_?"

"I didn't see that one coming, either," Wade admitted, a little winded. He bent over, clutching his knees, his long hair hanging in his face, then straightened and fixed her with a harried look. "Rane, when we get down to the main floor I think we might have to fight our way out of here. If they don't beat us there, we're gonna haul ass to the nearest Floo and get the fuck out of dodge. Otherwise, I dunno what's gonna happen to us. We can't take them all."

There was a ding, signifying the ground floor. The lift clanged to a stop.

"Put that away," Rane said hastily, nodding to his sword. "We're gonna try to walk out of here first. If they come at us, we'll take them."

Wade sheathed it, nodding. The lift doors creaked open, and both of them tensed - however, the atrium was crowded, bustling, and there were no armed guards awaiting them. The two of them strode out side by side; Rane's hand was deep inside her pocket, clutching her wand with panicky tightness.

"There," said Wade as they shouldered through the crowds, nodding ahead. There was a lit fireplace up ahead, and they both veered to the left towards it.

There were ten feet between them and the Floo when the shouts began to ring out behind them.

"STOP THEM!" Yaxley's high-pitched voice rang out, and Rane and Wade ran for it. Both of them dove into the Floo, one after the other, leaving the Ministry behind in a whirl of color.

THEY emerged in a London pub, of all places, falling into a heap nearly on top of one another, both coughing and sending up billows of ash. Rane staggered to her feet, staring around them warily, her wand already in hand.

"It's alright," Wade coughed, getting laboriously to his feet and brushing the cinders off of himself. "They won't follow us, that one was arbitrary. They're just as likely to end up here as in Timbuktu."

The pub was abandoned, in any case - closed, Rane thought, judging by the upside-down barstools sitting seat-down on each table - but she was still quite anxious to leave nonetheless. That had been far too close.

"Let's go to Grimmauld Place," she said, rolling up her sleeves. "They won't be able to find us there, and I want to take a load off for a few minutes. That shook me up a little bit."

This was the truth. She'd barely finished her morning coffee before being accosted by the office staff she'd worked for, and she needed to process what had just happened somewhere safe.

"After you," said Wade, grasping her forearm, and they vanished in a swirl of robes.

They arrived in the livingroom, almost on top of Ron Weasley, who had been lying supine on the floor with one arm slung over his eyes, clearly almost asleep. At their advent, he leapt to his feet, looking shocked.

"Blimey, what the blazes -?"

"Jesus Christ!" Rane said loudly, "you'll never _believe_ what just happened!"

Harry and Hermione were trotting into the room, drawn by the noise, both of them with wands drawn. Hermione pocketed her own at the sight of Rane, but Harry's remained aimed at Wade, his face hard.

"Take it easy, Harry, it's just me," said Wade, raising two empty hands before his face. Harry was not swayed, however.

"How'd you meet my mum and dad?" he said loudly.

"I was there when they were inducted into the Order," said Wade at once, not hesitating. "I took them out for drinks the first night we met, we got along so well. Sirius and Remus were there too, and so was Peter Pettigrew, though I wish to fuck I hadn't paid for his drinks." He paused, then added, "mousy little groveling shit, that one, even back then."

Harry lowered his wand. "Is that true?" he asked, looking curious in spite of himself.

Wade nodded, pulling off his cloak. "Harry, I loved the hell out of your parents," he said honestly. "Rane'll tell you, I was busted up when they went. They were some of the best folks I ever knew, and we had some damn good times together."

Harry looked as if he wanted to delve further into this, but Hermione interrupted.

"Rane, what's happened?" she asked. "Why are you here so early? It's not even noon yet!"

"Yaxley attacked us," said Wade, sitting down heavily on the sofa and leaning back, rubbing his face with both hands so that his voice came out muffled. "Not that it means anything, that dude is balls-deep in the Dark Arts, but we also had about five other guys on us which means that they planned this."

"Wait, _wait_ ," said Harry, waving his hands, "they attacked you inside the _Ministry_?"

"Right in the Auror Office, no less," said Rane. She was lowering herself onto the ground, curling her legs beneath her Indian-style. Her limbs felt oddly stiff, as if she had just finished sprinting. She could feel her heartbeat, still hummingbird-quick, and her muscles were trembling minutely all over. She glanced at her father, frowning. "I'm all adrenaline right now, how about you?"

Wade lifted one hand, palm-down, in front of his face; Rane could see it shaking badly.

"I definitely did not see that one coming," he said again, and sighed. "Christ, but right out in the _open_ like that! I've never seen the beat of it! Not in a hundred years, I swear to Christ, I'd have never thought -!"

"But what does that mean?" said Ron.

"Means we're out of the running, that's what," Wade told him. He sighed roughly. "I thought we'd have more time, for sure. Fat lot of good we're going to do now."

"We can still do plenty of good," Rane said, but now that she was home, the realization of what had just occurred was slowly beginning to sink in. She lowered her face into her hands, staring at the carpet. This was most assuredly the end of her career as an Auror, at least for the foreseeable future; her sacking under Fudge had been quite different, based on a weak leader i and the deluded and bureaucratic leadership with its heart in the wrong place. A cadre of Death Eaters, governed by purity of blood, would not allow her back so easily. Her period at the Ministry of Magic, so brief, had ended once more, and this time perhaps permanently.

"What happened?" Harry asked, kneeling before Rane.

Rane recounted briefly what had occurred before they'd arrived back at Grimmauld Place - the memo, Yaxley, her father and Kingsley urging their departure, and finally the shootout and the narrow escape. By the end, all three of them - Hermione, Ron and Harry - were staring at her in gape-mouthed shock.

"Are they allowed to do that?" Hermione blurted.

Wade snorted. "They're allowed to do whatever they please now." He got to his feet, glancing at his daughter. " _Ceri'cin sogenne_?"

"There's _miruvor_ in the fridge, and Sirius's firewhiskey in the cabinet," she replied, gesticulating towards the kitchen. Wade strode off without another word; after a moment, the sounds of him rummaging around in the kitchen in search of a drink came to them.

"So . . . So, you've lost your job?" said Ron tentatively.

"Yeah, I think that's safe to say," said Rane with a cynical laugh. "If I showed back up I'm sure they'd arrest me. Or worse."

Harry glanced at Hermione and Ron, and they shared a very guarded look between them. Rane watched this with interest.

"What?" she said. Wade was reentering, carrying a heavy flagon of firewhiskey now; she'd been sure he'd go for the miruvor. He must have been feeling pretty rough. "Why does it matter?"

Harry broke eyes with his companion and looked up at Rane. He glanced at Wade, too, who was just settling back onto the sofa.

"We'll tell you, but it has to stay between us," he said, sounding very solemn. "Can you do that? The pair of you?"

"Dad?" said Rane. "Can you keep your mouth shut?"

Wade, who had just taken a heavy draught from his firewhiskey, lowered it and answered thickly, "No problem"

"We're planning to infiltrate the Ministry tomorrow," said Harry.

Wade choked on his firewhiskey at once, spluttering weakly.

"You're _what_?" he gasped. " _Why_?"

"Dad," said Rane, giving him a forbidding look. "It's their business."

"But Harry, that's craziness," said Wade, his voice rising. "You can't -!"

" _Dad_ ," said Rane again, much more sharply. "Stop. Leave it alone."

Wade shut his mouth, falling back onto the sofa. He looked between the three of them, shook his head, then took a long draught on his firewhiskey.

"Alright, fine," he said. "Just be careful."


	50. Firewhiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane isolates herself to make sense of what she feels

Rane had made a promise not to speak of Harry's mission, and she meant to keep it, but with one very explicit stipulation: stay in touch, whenever possible. Owls were largely out of the question, of course - they would draw too much attention, and much besides, Hedwig had perished at the hands of the Death Eaters alongside Mad-Eye in July. So, too, were Patronuses; now that Harry had donned Sirius's old mantle as the most wanted man in the country, there wasn't a witch or wizard this side of Moscow that wouldn't recognize his silver stag. So, on the morning before Harry, Ron and Hermione infiltrated the Ministry of Magic, Rane did something she had never done before.

"I'm gonna teach you guys some Quenya magic," she said.

They were sitting at the long table in Grimmauld Place's kitchen. Rane had made them some toast and coffee, but none of them seemed very interested in it. Rane herself felt keyed up, thrumming like a livewire, and she was very aware that the feeling wasn't her own; she was picking up on her companions' emotions, a sometime-ability she could thank her father for. He called it empathy, but it was far more than that; Rane had always seen it as a sort of broadcast signal receiver that worked about half of the time, usually when it was least welcome to.

"Sorry?" said Hermione, glancing up at her distractedly. She had three books opened before her on the table and had spent the last thirty minutes poring over them and muttering to herself.

"I said I'm gonna teach you guys some Elf magic," said Rane, balling up her napkin and tossing it onto her plate of toast.

"What for?" said Ron.

"Communication." Rane slid the plate away from her and began to roll up the sleeves of her hoody with slow deliberation. "I have a feeling we might not be seeing each other for a while after today."

Harry gave her an alarmed look. "What? What d'you -?"

"It's not a bad thing, necessarily," said Rane at once. "It doesn't feel bad, anyways, and I could be wrong, of course, but just to be safe . . . In case we end up spread out without any way to talk."

"But what if that means they'll catch us?" said Hermione, looking frightened.

"D'you reckon you could know that, Rane?" asked Ron, staring at her, his face draining of color.

Rane paused rolling up her sleeves, looking at the three frightened faces staring at her.

"Guys, I'm not a fortune teller," she said. "It's just a feeling. I think it's something else, not the Ministry thing. Sorry," she added, and sighed. "I'm anxious as all fuck. It came out wrong."

She took a quick sip of coffee and leaned forward, clasping her hands before her on the table.

"I'm going to show you guys how to talk to me without owls and such," she said. "It's not hard, but there's a trick to it, up here."

She tapped her temple with one finger.

"And after today, if I'm right - which I may not be," she added quickly as Hermione shifted nervously, "I won't be nearby to help you do it. It'll be up to you. So I want to get it right, while we're all together. Okay?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged an edgy glance. Harry nodded. Ron pulled out his wand.

"Elves don't use wands," Hermione told him, and Rane was heartened by the faint echo of her old haughtiness in her voice.

"Yeah, you won't need it," she agreed. Looking mystified, Ron pocketed his wand again. "So, for this spell - I guess it's a spell, sort of - there's an invocation phrase. Cen im'nin."

"Cen im'nin," Harry repeated. Rane nodded, satisfied.

"That's Quenya. Good job. So this next time when you say it, I want you to think about me - my name, my face, what my voice sounds like, whatever. It's easy with me sitting right in front of you, but it'll be harder once we're apart." She nodded to Harry. "Try it. Keep me at the front of your mind and say those words again."

Harry studied Rane's face for a moment. "Cen im'nin."

Rane gave it ten seconds, then shook her head. "You're not concentrating hard enough. Try again."

This time, Harry stared at Rane for a good deal longer, his green eyes flicking back and forth as he marked her features carefully.

"Cen im'nin."

There was a soft humming sound and suddenly a bright bluish-white ball of light, about the size of a grape, sprang into existence over the table. Ron, Hermione and Harry all gasped. It hung there between them, casting off little tendrils of smoke and rolling lazily.

"Excellent," Rane exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "That's all there is to it."

"What is it?" Ron asked, staring at the ball of light.

"We can use it to talk to each other, now that there's a connection. Kinda like a CB radio."

"Is it magic?" Hermione asked dubiously, eyeing the orb.

Rane shrugged noncommittally. "Eh . . . Sort of, for lack of a better word. More like a mental link." She tapped her temple again. "It's all inside your head, just projected. Hard to explain. Call it a Jedi mind trick."

"So if we need to talk to you, I just think about you and say those words in Elvish?" Harry asked. "And that's it?"

"That's it."

"It's sort of like when Sirius would put his head in the Floo at Hogwarts, I reckon," said Ron musingly.

"Not quite," said Rane. "You won't be able to see me, just hear my voice. Still . . . Pretty useful."

"Why in the bloody hell didn't you ever show us this before?" Harry remarked.

Rane shrugged. "Never had any need. Owls work just fine when you're not being hunted down by the Ministry. Also," she added, a trifle guiltily, "the Elves don't like to share this kind of stuff with humans. If they found out, I'd be in deep shit. So mum's the word."

It was a good thing Rane taught them the invocation when she did, because it turned out that her intuition was right on the money; she did not see Harry, Ron or Hermione for several months after their final morning together. Thanks to the spell, she was able to touch base with the three of them once or twice a week between the Ministry infiltration and Christmas, and it did Rane's heart good (as well as Molly's, who was relieved to know her youngest son was alive and well).  
Though Harry weighed on her mind, Rane had her own fish to fry that Fall. She and Wade had become fugitives themselves, and Pius Thicknesse had wasted no time in making the public aware of it, garnishing their Ministry getaway with colorful phrases like "attempted murder" and "long-time conspirators" in the half-page article that appeared in the Prophet. As a result, Rane had been cooped up inside the dismal walls of Grimmauld Place more or less since September, uncannily mirroring Sirius's final year. The Order remained busy, of course, but the periods of time between missions had grown long, and its members seemed scattered. Meetings happened less often, sometimes only once or twice a month, and deaths were frequent. It was clear that things were breaking down.

Of course, fewer meetings was just as well for Rane, because she had fallen into bad form. She'd begun to drink, and not a little. Many times her evenings that winter ended curled up on the sofa after midnight in the dark livingroom of Grimmauld Place, watching Neth'Un glimmering out the window with tears streaming down her face, her chest hitching silently. In the mornings she awoke to the silent, musty corridors of Grimmauld Place feeling ill and forlorn, trudging pallid and silent to the porch where she would sit, wrapped in her mother's purple afghan, sipping coffee and staring at the growing dawn with haunted eyes. Never, not since Sirius's death, had she felt such a deep sense of dismal disquiet.

Remus showed up one evening in early February amid a violent, lightning-splashed snowstorm that had knocked out all the power for several blocks around Grimmauld Place. Snow had stacked in billowy white drifts nearly to the middle of the front door; when Remus came in, quite a lot of it came in with him, falling unceremoniously onto the ratty rug and blowing inside in powdery drifts with the wild wind outside. He closed the heavy door behind him, shutting out the shrieking storm, and stamped off his boots. With an absent wave of his wand, the snow vanished, leaving a dark damp spot on the rug, and he strode into the foyer, making no attempt to stifle the sound of his approach.

Rane Roth could hear conversations four blocks away when she was topped out, but she didn't hear Remus Lupin coming into the livingroom that evening until he was nearly upon her. She was sitting in her usual spot on the sofa, legs curled beneath her, a mostly empty bottle of firewhiskey uncorked on the table before her. A candle, melted down to the wick, was flickering on the table before her, casting its red-orange glow on her face. Remus came in towards her at an angle, and he was stopped nearly dead by how she looked. For a moment, he simply stood in the foyer, staring at her, silent. Much like Sirius once upon a time, Remus had never been stricken by the fact that Rane looked like an Elf until tonight, something he chalked up later to the months that had passed since he'd see her. She was startlingly beautiful and startlingly sad in the candlelight, and though her breathing was steady and slow, tears were streaming down her cheeks in glistening rivulets, her dark brows drawn together and her mouth turned down. Except for the hair, she could have been Iliwynn in that low glow, curled slender and still on the sofa.

"Rane?" he said gently.

Rane was badly startled; she spun around, her hair whirling about her head, slopping her firewhiskey onto the arm of the sofa, and stared at him with wide, shocked eyes.

"Christ!" she exclaimed, gaping at him. "I didn't hear you come in!" Then, aside as if to herself, "Fuck, how did I not hear you come in?"

"I am sorry if I frightened you," Remus told her, coming around the sofa and taking a seat beside her. "Is this . . . Erm, a bad time? Are you quite alright?"

"Am I . . . bad time . . . ?"

Rane stared at him for a moment in bafflement, then abruptly seemed to remember herself. She straightened, set the glass of firewhiskey onto the table and wiped hastily at her cheeks with the heels of her hand.

"I'm - yeah, I just - I didn't expect to see anyone tonight," she said. The slur in her voice was more than a little prominent - I din 'spect t'see anyone t'night - and Remus frowned at the firewhiskey bottle on the table, which was empty save a scrim of reddish liquid sloshing at the very bottom.

"Of course."

Rane was looking at him now, her gaze narrow. "It's been a minute, Remus."

It had been more than a minute. By Remus's calculations it had been nearly five months, and if he was being honest, he'd regretted staying away for as long as he had. His anger with her had lasted all of two weeks, during which Tonks had taken great pains to talk him down. She'd been surprisingly understanding about the situation, even after Remus confessed to her what the true nature of their conversation had been, and had taken up for both Rane and Harry.

Don't be thick, she'd said sourly. Harry's not yet twenty, and Rane's just spent near a year pregnant and alone. Remus, you must understand why they were angry with you.

And he had, of course; after his initial rage had passed, something that he was at great pains to master in his life, he had felt simple shame for what he had suggested. He had stayed away from Rane until he could not stand the bad blood between them any longer, as worried by their animus as he was by her silence. Molly had expressed concern for her several times to him privately, noting that she'd lost weight and grown silent and grim during the winter. Wade had, as well. It seemed she had avoided everyone, not just Remus.

Now that she was sitting before him, he could see where their concern had come from. She had indeed lost weight, a dangerous feat for a lady with no pounds to give away, and her eyes seemed hollow and oddly empty. Remus had known her to drink, of course - how many evenings had they spent together over too much ale or wine while Sirius was alive? He'd lost count - but he had never known her to drink alone, at least not to this extent. An entire bottle of firewhiskey was no small feat, and she was still on her feet, for the most part. She'd been practicing, then. But why?

"It has, yes," he said at last, nodding.

"So, what makes you suddenly feel like turning up?" Rane asked him, sounding a trifle truculent. Now that the shock of seeing him was passing, her anger was springing up to replace it; it was written all over her face. "Order stuff?"

"No, no, nothing official," said Remus, shaking his head. Now that they'd come to it, he was feeling a little diffident. "I came to . . . Well, to apologize, Rane . . . "

"Oh, to apologize," said Rane, patting her cheek with exaggerated surprise. "Apologize, he says! And it only took him six goddamned months to arrive there! A great mind is amongst us! He shall now scatter pearls of wisdom!"

She tossed back her remaining firewhiskey and then slammed the empty glass onto the table before her with a clang. Remus watched her cautiously.

"Rane, forgive me for saying so, but are you -?"

"Drunk?" Rane wasn't looking at him. She uncorked the bottle of nearly-empty firewhiskey and dumped the last bit arbitrarily into her glass, spilling some onto the tabletop. "You bet your ass I am."

"Is this a bad time to speak?"

"Is it a bad time?" Rane eyed Remus over her glass, looking amused and grim.  
"It's always a bad time nowadays, friendo. You of all people must know that by now."

A silence fell between them. Remus was looking at Rane, feeling quite ill at ease. Rane was swirling her drink around and staring out the window at the stars overhead, her mouth thin and downturned.

"You came to apologize," she repeated, low.

"Yes, I did." Remus paused, wringing his hands. "I was bang out of line when we spoke last, Rane. To both you and Harry. You were right, I shouldn't have thought of leaving Tonks right now. I was . . . Frightened, I suppose."

Rane was running her finger along the rim of her glass, her eyes still fixed on the sky.

"Frightened," she said quietly.

"Yes. Having a son or daughter . . . One that might be like me . . . Well, we've spoken of it before, haven't we? The idea tormented me when I found out. I would not wish my affliction upon anyone, lease of all my own child."

"Yeah, having a kid is some scary shit," said Rane, sipping at her glass.

"Rane, is something wrong?" said Remus, abandoning pretense.

Rane snorted. "Remus," she said softly, shaking her head. "What kind of a dipshit dumbass question is that, huh?"

"I don't understand you.

"You don't understand me," Rane laughed, then suddenly threw her glass across the room as hard as she could. It struck the far wall and shattered in a spray of glass. Remus jumped. Rane leapt to her feet and batted the empty bottle of firewhiskey off the table; it hit the carpet, miraculously unbroken, and rolled away from them.

"DID YOU COME HERE FOR A PARDON?" she shouted at Remus, her eyes wild. "WELL, YOU'RE PARDONED, REMUS! GO LIVE YOUR FUCKING LIFE WITH A CLEAR CONSCIENCE, HOW'S THAT SOUND?"

Remus stared at her, nonplussed.

"What's the matter?" he asked her quietly. "Please, Rane."

Rane stared at him for a moment longer, breathing quickly, then she collapsed ungracefully back onto the sofa, her browns drawn together.

"Remus, something awful . . . " she trailed off, staring at him desperately. "I don't know how to explain it. I feel like . . . Like it's coming."

"What is?"

"I don't know!" Rane shook her head and struck the arm of the sofa with one clenched fist, anger flashing in her face. "I don't know, Remus, but it won't leave me alone! It's like . . . It's like it's haunting me, like it won't go away . . . I can't get rid of it!"

Remus reached out, hesitated a moment, then grasped her hand. It was cold, and she gripped at him with panicky tightness, like a woman drowning.

"Surely you must know what it is, though?" he said quietly. "Is it Harry?"

Rane waved this off, shaking her head. "Harry's fine, I've talked to him twice a week for the whole winter."

This was news to Remus, who felt genuine relief pass through him. "Is he?" he said, helpless not to press her further. "Where is he? What's he doing?"

But Rane was already shaking her head. Drunk or sober, she was not about to divulge any more on the subject of Harry.

"I can't tell you," she said. "He's okay. Ron and Hermione, too. It's not them, Remus, it's something else. But Harry's part of it. I don't know. It's all confused."

She clutched at her forehead.

"I don't know what to do," she said quietly, sounding strangely childlike.

"The Elves, perhaps they can -"

"I tried." Rane looked at him grimly, her eyes red-rimmed and haunted. "Iliwynn told me it's umbarae. Which does fuck-all," she added, and laughed without humor. "Spit in the ocean and see if it comes back, I guess."

This meant nothing to Remus. "What does it mean? Umbarae?"

"It means 'shadow of fate,'" said Rane, low. "It's a feeling that comes before something happens. I felt it before Albus. So did dad."

A silence fell between them. Remus felt at a loss. He had not anticipated this; when he'd finally decided to come here and make amends with Rane, he had simply assumed he'd find her in a good state of mind. Instead, she was drunk, frantic and volatile, talking about premonitions and ill fortune.

"I'm sorry," said Rane, and laughed. "I sound like a fucking crazy person." She gestured to the empty bottle of firewhiskey glittering on the ground. "I'm drunk. I'm just fucking drunk."

"Rane . . ." Remus hesitated, glancing at the bottle, too. "How long has this been going on?"

"What the hell does it matter?" Rane laughed again. Remus decided he didn't care for that laugh at all. It had all the cheer of a landslide.

"Rane, it matters a great deal to me that you are happy," Remus told her. "And it means a great deal to many others, as well -"

"Remus, I haven't been happy since Sirius died," said Rane quietly. She sighed suddenly, a raucous and fraught sound, her breath wavering as if she were on the verge of tears. "And that's been going on two years now. Two years in June."

This statement hung pregnantly between them. Remus knew, of course. He'd known since he'd seen her collapse in the hospital wing at Hogwarts after Albus had told her about Sirius's death. The Rane Roth he had known before that long and strange year had been a tough, spirited young woman, beautiful and outspoken, unbent by the perils of the world. The girl who sat before him now seemed older, broken in some fundamental way. He was reminded suddenly of a story he had heard years and years ago, during History of Magic in his Hogwarts days. It was an Elven legend of Luthien, an Elf woman, who had fallen in love with a mortal man called Beren. When he was killed, Luthien spent a time grieving for him, away from her people, and at last died herself.

But you can't just die from . . . From being sad, can you? James had asked Professor Binns bluntly.

Ah, Professor Binns had said, lifting one transparent finger. Mortal men, perhaps not. But Elves are a different species, Mr. Potter, which bond far more fiercely to those whom they care for. Luthien simply died of a broken heart, as many Elves have.

James had scoffed at this, and had likely made plenty of jokes about it in the Common Room later that evening, but Remus had felt oddly disturbed by it. Now he felt that same disquiet, unchanged by the long years since Hogwarts. Once again he felt out of his element; was it possible that losing Sirius had simply destroyed a part of Rane in much the same way? What was to be done in the face of such a thing?

"Idril," he heard himself saying. "What about Idril?"

For the first time that evening, a genuine smile touched Rane's mouth, and her face lightened a little. "I love Idril," she said. "With every fiber of my being, I love her. But Remus . . ."

The light in her eyes faded again.

"I just . . . I can't move on. I can't. I feel it." She placed a hand over her heart. "I feel it like it was new. Every day. Just . . . Just pain." She sighed again, dropping her hand. "And now this. This new thing."

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't. Neither do I."

A silence fell between them. Rane looked over at him at last, her eyes wide and desperate in the starlight.

"Will you stay here with me for a while?" she asked softly.

"Of course," said Remus. "Rane, of course I'll stay."

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. She stiffened at first, as if unused to the touch of another, but then he felt her relax and lay her head on his shoulder. Together they watched Neth'Un glittering in the sky outside, neither speaking. At length, Remus felt the gentle shudder of her silent tears, and then, when some time had passed, her breath lengthened and she slept.


	51. Malfoy Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dobby and Rane attempt a rescue

"Miss Roth! Miss Roth! MISS ROTH, PLEASE WAKE UP!"

Rane jolted awake, arms and legs pinwheeling in a tangle of sheets, and fell with a thud from her bed to the wooden floor.

"Christ!" she gasped, pulling the blankets from her face and staggering to her feet.

"Miss Roth?" The large greenish eyes staring at her were hesitant. "Miss Rane Roth?"

"The fuck - who - what are you doing in my room?"

Her visitor, who had been standing beside her bed shouting at her and clutching at her, was presently clambering onto her recently vacated bed, his eyes wide. He was a house elf, clearly, but leagues younger than Kreacher at any rate.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" Rane shouted again, scrabbling for the wand on the tabletop next to her bed with some difficulty due to the sheets snaked around her. Empty goblets scattered loudly to the floor at her grasping. Her anger was swelling now, perhaps augmented by her initial thought that it had been Kreacher leering over her as she slept. "Huh? What the fuck are you doing in here, who are you -?"

"Please," said the house elf meekly, "please don't shout at Dobby, madam."

He was looking at her fearfully, shrinking beneath her shouting as if expecting a blow and trembling all over. Rane stopped scrabbling for her wand, sinking back a bit.

"Look, Dobby - is it Dobby?"

Dobby nodded, his large batlike ears flapping.

"Dobby," she said, trying to keep her voice relatively level, "I'm sorry for yelling, but it's really late and it's kind of weird that you're here, okay?"

"Dobby is looking for Miss Roth," Dobby said, wringing his hands and looking at her with his large eyes imploringly. "It is urgent that Dobby find Miss Roth. Dobby is sorry to come, madam, Dobby did not mean to frighten anyone, but it is urgent -!"

He shrank back abruptly, raising his long-fingered hands before his face as Rane got laboriously to her feet. She froze, lifting her own hands palms out and feeling absurdly guilty.

"I'm just getting up," she said, her voice now very low. "I'm not going to hurt you, Dobby, you just scared me."

Dobby lowered his hands, but still he watched her cautiously as she stood, untangling her long legs from the sheets and trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible (not a difficult feat for a hungover woman clad in pajama shorts with her hair standing up in all directions, or so one might think).

"Madam, please, I must find - !"

"It's me, I'm Miss - I mean, I'm Rane," said Rane, shaking her head. "You found me, it's all good."

Dobby gave a squeak of excitement that warmed Rane towards him considerably; circumstance aside, it was positively endearing. This was clearly not the type of house elf to crack your window in the wee hours to freeze you in your bed, that much was becoming clear.

"Miss Roth!" Dobby cried, and abandoning all pretense he leaped forward and threw his arms around her knees, hugging her and nearly sending Rane onto her ass again. "Miss Roth! Please, you must come, you must come at once -!"

"What - what's going on, is it the Order? Do you belong to someone in the Order?"

Dobby took a step back from her, staring up at her with a sudden steely resentment, his large ears flattening.

"Dobby does not belong to anyone!" he said stridently. "Dobby is a free elf!"

Rane blinked "I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, Dobby, I've just never met a house elf who didn't belong to somebody -"

"Harry Potter freed Dobby," said the house elf, still looking defiantly at her. "And Harry Potter needs Dobby now, Miss Roth, to free him! And Dobby needs your help!"

"Harry?" Rane felt a sudden, cold flare of fear bloom in her belly. When had they last spoken? A week? More? "Dobby, is that why you're here? Harry?"

"Miss Roth, Harry Potter is in trouble and he told me to find you!" Dobby said in a rush, his eyes bugging. "We must help him, Miss Roth! Will you come? Please?"

Rane got to her feet. "Dobby, where is he? What's going on?"

Dobby shook his head violently again, his bat-like ears flapping. "Miss Roth -"

"Rane, for Christ's sake, it's Rane." For all her fear, she still felt a touch of exasperation. "No one calls me Miss anything, just call me Rane."

"Rane," said Dobby obligingly, and Rane felt her liking of him burgeon even further. Free or not, she'd never met a house elf who was prepared to call a witch by her first name without a great deal of vacillation. "Harry Potter is in danger, he was captured -"

"Captured -?"

"Dobby came here because Harry Potter asked him to!" Dobby interrupted her. "He told Dobby to find Rane Roth, and so I came here to find her, to -!"

"Okay, but how did you get here?" Rane asked, interrupting him in her own turn. "I mean, where is he, is he close? Is there a wizard with you, or -?"

"House elves can Apparate and Disapparate as we please," Dobby told her, looking at her with some insult. "We do not need wands, Rane Roth."

This was news to Rane, who knew about as much about the minutiae of house elves as she did about oenology. It made sense, abruptly, that Kreacher had been so often missing during the last six months of Sirius's life; however, she could hardly think of that right now. She shook her head at Dobby, exasperated.

"So where is he?" Rane asked for a third time. "And how do we get there?"

Dobby leaped onto the bed again, turning to look at her avidly.

"I can take us to him!"

"So if I get my boots on and - ?"

"Yes!"

" - you'll be able to take us to him right n-?"

"Yes! Yes!" Dobby was watching her desperately. "Yes, but we must hurry!"

"I can hurry," said Rane, and turned to search for her boots.

HOUSE Elf Apparition was new to Rane; the magic seemed stouter, somehow, more concentrated, and the sensation was correspondingly off-putting. When Rane landed, still with Dobby's long fingers laced between her own, she fell to her knees at once, overcome with nausea, gagging deep in her throat and trying desperately to keep her gorge.

"Rane Roth!" said Dobby, sounding concerned. Rane felt his hand on her shoulder. "Rane Roth, what is it?"

" - Sick - !"

Rane gave an involuntary urk sound and felt the contents of her stomach - nothing but half a bottle of firewhiskey and a nibble of lembas from the evening before - rise threateningly in her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth, moaning.

"OY!" a voice hissed, and suddenly a curled fist slammed into Rane's head, knocking her onto her side where she lay groaning and clutching her head.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" she shouted, getting to her feet and glaring into the darkness, clutching at her shorts for her wand. "I MEAN JUST WHAT THE F -?"

"Rane?"

The voice that spoke was desperate with hope and terribly familiar. Rane froze at once. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she could see several figures in the dimness before her.

Rane's wand still hung at her side in a vice-like grip, but when she spoke, her voice was harsh with emotion. "Harry?"

The answer came in his embrace; she sensed a form before her in the darkness rushing forward, and then arms were flung around her. She buried her face in his shoulder, feeling the sting of tears threatening behind her eyes. She pulled away, grasped his face in her hands within the dimness, trying to make out his features, and planted a kiss on his temple.

"Harry Potter, you tell me that's you, right this second -"

"It's me," said Harry breathlessly, and hugged her tightly. "It's me, Rane."

Light suddenly erupted around them, making Rane squint. Ron Weasley stood at hand, his fist lifted and a curious, lighter-like device clutched in his spare hand. They appeared to be in some kind of dim, dank basement, stone-flagged and damp.

Rane recoiled at once as Harry's face was illuminated.

"Jesus CHRIST, what the hell -?" Rane laughed in spite of herself. "What'd you do, eat bad shellfish or something -?"

"It's a spell," Harry said, shaking his head. His face was swollen and distended, but he was smiling. "Hermione did it, when the snatchers showed up, so they wouldn't recognize me -"

"Snatchers?"

"That's how we got here," said Ron at her elbow. She turned to him.

"And did you punch me in the head?" she asked him, rubbing her temple ruefully.

"Sorry, mate, couldn't see you in the dark." Ron shrugged. "Thought you might be -"

Rane broke away from Harry and wrapped her arms around Ron next.

"Ron Weasley, you son of a bitch -"

"Oy, don't talk about mum like that." Ron pulled away from her, smirking.

Rane took a moment to simply look at them. She hadn't seen them in better than half a year, and in spite of everything she felt herself swelling with happiness at the sight of them.

"You guys look like shit," she remarked. It was the truth; aside even from Harry's face, the two of them were filthy, run down and far too thin. Ron's cheekbones stood out with grim prominence. Molly would have had a conniption, seeing them this way.

"You don't look so great yourself," said Ron bluntly.

Rane laughed openly. "Thanks for that."

"It's true, you're . . . " Harry shook his head, staring at her. "Rane, you're really thin . . . "

"Yeah, well . . ." Rane shrugged. "Things haven't been so great for me either, you guys."

They regarded one another for a moment in silence. The only way they'd communicated over the past six months had been via the Quenya spell Rane had taught them, which did not include face to face contact, and Harry had been deliberately vague about their endeavors. She had missed them, and she could feel the smile on her face. She cleared her throat, trying to seem more businesslike.

"So where are we?" she asked, straightening and pulling her wand. "Place is kinda grim -"

"Keep your voice down!" a voice said, and Rane turned to her right. There was a girl there that Rane recognized from the night Albus had died. "They'll hear!"

"Luna," said Rane, pointing at her hesitantly. "That's your name."

"Yes, that's me," said Luna, her voice still low, "but look -"

"I'm Dean Thomas." said another figure, coming into the light with both hands raised before him and looking frightened. "Are you the Elf Auror, Rane Roth? We talked about you on Potterwatch -"

"I'm Rane Roth, yes," Rane said, and with some aplomb added, "I'm not an Auror anymore but I'm happy not to be at this point. It's a pleasure."

She stuck out a hand and Dean shook it hesitantly. Rane glanced around her, feeling a touch of impatience.

"Is it just you guys?" Rane asked, looking between the four of them.

"Well, no," said Luna, "Mr. Ollivander is here too, he's not good, though -"

"The wandmaker?" Rane could not conceal her surprise. "I thought the Death Eaters got him ages ago -"

Ron gestured behind him into a corner, where Rane could now make out a curled, motionless figure. She recognized the flyaway white hair in an instant.

"Oh, Christ," she said softly. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, no he's alive," said Dean, "but he's weak, we think he's been here for a while longer than us -"

"And there's Griphook, but he's upstairs," Harry added.

"Griphook, who the hell is Griphook -?"

"A goblin," said Dean. "A goblin from Gringott's. He's been captured same as Mr. Ollivander, we think -"

"And Hermione? Where's she?"

"She's upstairs," said Ron quietly, glaring at the ceiling above them. "They're interrogating her."

"Upstairs? Interrog - who, Ron, who's -?"

Rane stopped, looking between them and reminding herself sharply that these were teenagers and she was the adult here now. She steeled herself.

"Alright guys, somebody tell me where we're at, please. I need to know if I'm gonna help us get out of here."

"We're -" Ron began, but just as he spoke there was a scream above them. Rane recoiled, startled, staring above them.

"Rane, this is the Malfoys' basement," Harry said quickly, grasping her wrist and looking up at her face desperately. "Listen, we've been captured, Hermione is up there with -"

"With who?"

"Bellatrix."

Rane glanced at Harry, her eyes abruptly flint-like. "Bellatrix?"

That name. Rane had many enemies, as did any of the Order members, but that name . . . the father of her child had fallen at her hands. She had not had occasion to encounter Bellatrix Lestrange for two years now. She was tough to find, seeming to leap to the fore only when it suited her to. And how Rane had longed for a chance to meet her face to face . . .

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" said Rane, as if there were more than one. "Lestrange?"

"And loads more," Harry added. "But she's up there, Rane, yeah. We all saw her."

Rane was silent and still for a moment. Luna, Dean, Harry and Ron were all staring at her, and she realized with a jolt that all four of them knew exactly what was going through her mind. Luna had seen what had happened to Sirius. Ron and Harry had been there, too. Dean? Certainly he'd been told, or perhaps gleaned the tale of Sirius's death from another means. There was fear in their eyes, and hesitancy. She was aware, abruptly, of how she must look to them: a woman in bedshorts, a pair of dusty boots and a tank top, her hair tied into a hasty knot at the top of her head, her eyes shadowed and red, so thin now that she was nearly gaunt. She'd spent the night prior drinking herself into a stupor after her visit with Idril, until she collapsed into bed well after midnight, weeping, and had fallen into a nightmare-tossed slumber that had ended only when Dobby's face had appeared above hers. She stood before them now, easy feet from where the murderer of Sirius was, and she was certain she must seem as volatile and unstable as all hell. Something these kids probably didn't need right now, in any case.

"Who put you guys here?" Rane asked. "Was it just her? Just . . . just Bellatrix? Were there others?"

"Snatchers," said Luna at once.

"And it's Death Eaters upstairs?"

"Yes." Dean was nodding.

"How many of them?"

Harry and Ron glanced at one another.

"Six?" said Harry questioningly. Ron shrugged and nodded.

"Maybe seven, maybe eight," he said.

Rane sucked in a breath and released it, staring towards the ceiling. She wasn't sure if she could take on seven Death Eaters alone.

"Alright, we need to get to Hermione," she said softly. As if to punctuate this, another scream echoed overhead, and Ron flinched as if struck. "And the rest of us need to get out of here. Dobby," she said, glancing back at the House Elf, who had been shrinking in the corner, clutching at Harry's trousers and listening. "Can you Apparate these guys out of here?"

Dobby nodded at once, coming to the fore, his batlike ears flapping madly. "Yes! Yes, Rane Roth, I can! Where?"

Rane glanced at Harry, who looked as uncertain as she did.

"Not Grimmauld Place," Rane said, shaking her head. "And not to the Burrow . . ."

"Shell Cottage," said Ron abruptly. "To Bill and Fleur's. On the outskirts of Tinsworth!"

Rane could have kissed him. "That is a fucking excellient idea," she said. "Dobby, can you - ?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"Alright, Dean, Luna," said Rane, lifting her chin at them, "you guys go with Dobby, he's gonna take Ollivander with him too. Can you swing three at a time, Dobby?"

Dobby nodded, ears flapping, and Rane took a moment to be impressed with him once again. She gave him a warm smile which he returned.

"Harry!" Luna was staring at him desperately. "We want to help you!"

"We can't leave you here!" Dean whispered. "Not alone!"

"I'm not alone," said Harry softly. "Go! We'll see you at Shell Cottage. Go!" He said sharply as both Dean and Luna hesitated. They went to Ollivander, where they stood, looking hesitant. Dobby knelt, took one of Ollivander's limp hands in his own, then reached the other out to Dean and Luna. They grasped it, both looking uncertain.

"Be careful, Harry!" Luna said sharply.

"I will," said Harry.

With a bang, the four of them had vanished.


	52. Bellatrix Lestrange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The showdown

The CRACK that resounded as Dobby vanished was loud, seeming to fill in the small quarters. There was a thump upstairs, as if someone had stomped, and then a shout.

"What was that?" someone shouted above them, muffled. Rane, Harry and Ron all shrank, staring at the ceiling warily.

"Think they heard Dobby," Ron muttered.

Harry nodded, staring up.

"Okay, so besides Bellatrix, who's up there?" Rane asked, low.

Harry and Ron glanced at each other.

"Dunno," Harry whispered. "We only saw them for a moment, really . . ."

"Wormtail, for sure," Ron said. "Greyback. The Malfoys, all three of them."

"All _three_ of them? Besides Lucius?"

"Yeah, and Narcissa and Draco."

"Draco? Who's Draco?"

"We go to school with him," Ron said.

"The one I wrote to you about, Rane," Harry added. "Last year."

"Shit." Rane sucked in a breath, feeling a surge of dread. "The kid with the vanishing cabinets."

Harry and Ron were nodding. Rane looked at them worriedly, silent, pursing her lips. The idea of a kid no older than Harry and Ron in the midst of a firefight was chilling.

" _What_?" Harry was looking at her, his eyes wide.

Rane shrugged, shaking her head. "I mean, if I go up there firing off spells he's liable to get his jackass head blown off -"

"And?" said Ron, sounding uncharacteristically cold.

Rane looked at him with surprise. "That's a hell of a thing to say about your classmate, Ron -"

"He's a Death Eater, Rane, that's why he's not at Hogwarts," Harry said. "He's one of the reasons why Dumbledore isn't here -"

"Yeah, but he's just a _kid_ ," Rane interrupted harshly. "Have _you_ ever done anything stupid? You feel like you were born with stellar judgment?"

Harry was silent, but both he and Ron looked resentful. Rane looked between them for another moment, chewing her lip.

"You guys are both going with that house elf when he gets back."

"Dobby," Harry supplied, giving her a cool glance, "and no, we're not."

"Yes, you are." Rane turned her face back to him, her eyes hard. "If I get hurt or killed while I'm trying to get to Hermione, those guys are going to come down here for you, and neither of you -"

"You're not going to _die!_ " Harry said sharply, giving her an alarmed look.

"Rane, there are loads of them, you can't take them all," Ron interrupted. His tone was remarkably stoic.

"Don't be stupid," Harry added.

Rane opened her mouth to protest this further, but before she could speak, another long, harrowing scream echoed from upstairs. Ron and Harry froze, staring at the ceiling. Ron's face was deadly white.

"I swear, you guys are the worst," she muttered, pulling her wand out. "Have either of you got a wand? Or _anything_?"

"No," Ron said, shaking his head.

" _Alohomora_ ," Rane muttered, aiming her wand at the door. The lock remained where it was, motionless.

"It's enchanted from the outside," said Ron grimly. "Dean said that they'd already tried to get out with Luna's wand before they found out she still had it . . . "

"Shit. Okay." Rane was biting her lip. "We'll have to get out the stupid way, I guess. You guys get on either side of the door. If more than one comes downstairs you might need to jump them. Y'all think you can do that?"  
Ron and Harry glanced at each other, smirking.

"Rane, if you only knew the sort of rubbish we've been in the past few months," said Ron, shaking his head.

Rane snorted. "Well, _that_ makes me feel better. Go on, you guys."

Ron and Harry positioned themselves, both crouched, tensed to spring. Rane lifted her wand, aimed it at the barred doorway with one eye clenched shut, and shot a blast of white light. It struck its mark with a resounding clang, as loud as a belfry, spraying sparks across the stone floor. Above them, the muffled conversation suddenly came to a halt.

"The cellar!" someone hissed.

"Draco - no, call Wormtail!" a voice echoed. "Make him go and check!"

Footsteps crossed overhead quickly, followed by the creak of a door and the rapid padding of someone descending the stairway. Rane tensed, her wand still raised towards the door.

"Stand back," said a wheezy voice behind the door. "Stand away from the door. I am coming in."

The door swung back, and before Rane stood a squat, rat-faced man with wispy hair and small, watery eyes. She had the space of a moment to take him in; he was clad in Death Eater robes, though they looked dingy and not very well cared for. On one side he held a wand loosely; the other hand seemed to be encompassed in a silvery, shining spell of some kind. Wormtail, Rane had no doubt.

For a moment he simply gawked at Rane, his mouth slightly open, as if unable to comprehend what he was seeing; a girl in bed shorts, boots and a tank top, wand outstretched and dark hair falling from the loose knot it was tied into, standing in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor without explanation where its prisoners should be. Before he could so much as lift his wand, however, both Harry and Ron had lunged at him from either side with their full weight. Ron clamped his hand over Wormtail's mouth as Wormtail latched onto Harry's throat with the silvery hand he bore. Rane lunged at his arm at once, attempting to drag it away, but there was absolutely no give; it was like trying to move solid rock. Wormtail's wand clattered from his hand as Ron wrestled with him, still spraying silvery sparks.

"What is it, Wormtail?" Lucius Malfoy's voice echoed from upstairs.

"Nothing!" Ron cried in a high falsetto, "all fine!"

Rane pulled her wand, jabbed it at Wormtail's throat and clutched at his robes with her free hand, staring at him with wild eyes. "Let him go, you _fucker_ , you let him _go!_ "

Harry's face was turning red. Rane felt a touch of panic.

" _Let him go!_ " she hissed, jamming her wand into Wormtail's throat. He gagged, staring between her and Harry with large eyes. She dragged her nails across Wormtail's forearm, drawing blood in beads, staring at Harry's reddening face desperately. "Jesus Christ, you're killing him, you son of a _bitch_ -!"

"You're going to kill me?" Harry croaked, dragging at the silvery hand with his fingers. "After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!"

The effect was instantaneous. The silvery fingers around Harry's throat loosened, then relinquished their hold. And then, as Ron snatched up Wormtail's wand from the floor, the hand was moving towards its owner's throat, inexorable and almost lazy. Rane recoiled, staring in horror.

"No -"

Harry had leaped to the fore, attempting to pull the hand back, but it was useless. Rane tripped to her feet, her wand lowered. Wormtail was watching the silver hand's advent with helpless fascination, like a rat before a snake; Harry's attempts at preventing its movement were fruitless, and before Rane knew what was happening, the fingers had closed around Wormtail's throat.

"No!" Harry said, alarmed.

" _Relashio_!" Ron said, aiming his wand, but it was useless. And now the fingers were tightening, and Wormtail's eyes were bugging, his skin turning first red and then purple . . .

Rane stood, grabbed at both Ron and Harry, yanked them to their feet by their shirt collars and dragged them a step back. Wormtail continued to croak below them, writhing on the floor hideously. Rane couldn't imagine what was happening, but she thought she had a theory: a dark spell, turning on its master, a form of retribution after a betrayal, was what her heart told her.

"Don't look," Rane breathed, but of course none of them could look away. The time seemed to stretch into strings, until Hermione screamed from above them, startling them from their reverie. By then, Wormtail's purple face had ceased its twitching, and he had become still.

Harry made as if to kneel before Wormtail, but Ron reached out and jerked him back.

"Leave him, Harry," he said coldly, staring down at Wormtail with clear distaste. "Come on. Hermione."

Rane cast one final, disturbed look down at the body on the floor, the stepped around it and followed Ron and Harry up the stairway through the door that had been left ajar by the deceased Death Eater.

THE scene in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor was just as dire as Rane had feared. Hermione lay on the floor, motionless except for the quick rise and fall of her chest with her breath. A goblin was near at hand, grasping a ruby-crusted sword and studying it with apparent concentration. The shuffling motion of others was audible just out of sight. As she crouched in the hallway shadows with Ron and Harry, however, she found she could not tear her eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange.

Rane had met her face to face only once - the night Sirius had died - but she found that the merest details of her countenance were as intimately familiar to her as Rane's own, as if burned into her brain. Bellatrix stood over Hermione, her wand grasped loosely in one long-fingered hand, her heavily lidded eyes sparkling malevolently down at the goblin from beneath clouds of thick black hair. Her mouth was wide, painted red and oddly lascivious. It was impossible not to see Sirius in her features; they could have been siblings, albeit separated by several years. The dark good looks that had inhabited Sirius's features rested in Bellatrix's as well. It was strange, looking at her, so evocative of the man she'd murdered . . .

Rane felt Ron's hand grasp her forearm and tensed, glancing at him. She realized with a jolt that she had already gotten halfway to her feet, as if her body were prepared to attack before her mind had even fully arrived there. She settled back, unnerved, feeling her muscles trembling slightly. Her heart was beating much too hard.

"Well?" Bellatrix said abruptly, making all three of them jump. "Is it the true sword?"

The goblin holding the sword cast another look down at it, then turned his strange eyes back up to Bellatrix.  
"No," he said in his gravelly voice. "It is a fake."

"Are you sure?" said Bellatrix, breathing quickly. "Quite sure?"

"Yes," said the goblin.

Bellatrix's face seemed to relax. She loosed a high-pitched, cold laugh, straightening, and then suddenly flicked her wand casually at the goblin, who fell to the floor, blood dashing from his face, the sword clanging to the floor. Harry and Ron both jerked impulsively at Rane's side. Bellatrix kicked the goblin aside, where he writhed near the fireplace, groaning and clutching at his maimed cheek. She looked around her, eyes shining.

"And now," she said in a tone full of cold victory, "we call the Dark Lord!"

AFTER that, things began to happen very quickly. Rane found later that she could not recall all the details; it seemed to merge into color, and motion, and rage.

The first thing that happened was Harry, halfway collapsing at their sides. His eyes rolled halfway up, and his mouth turned down as if in agony; Rane turned to him in alarm, reaching out and grasping him beneath the armpits, so that he fell fully into her with all of his not-inconsiderable weight.

And then, before any of them could address this:

"And I think," Bellatrix said, "that we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want."

"NOOO!"

Before Rane could do anything, Ron had burst out of hiding, Wormtail's wand held before him, his eyes blazing. Rane and Harry both leapt to their feet. Bellatrix looked around, shocked; she turned her wand to face Ron instead -

" _Expelliarmus_!" he roared, pointing Wormtail's wand at Bellatrix, and hers flew into the air and was caught by Harry, who had sprinted after Ron. Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and Greyback - all of them had been out of sight of Rane - wheeled about; Harry yelled, " _Stupefy_!" and Lucius Malfoy collapsed onto the hearth. Jets of light flew madly from all of their wands.

Rane stepped out of the shadows, shielding Harry, and dragged him behind a sofa in one swift motion. Even as they passed behind it, the sharp sounds of spells hitting the cushions was loud, sending stuffing flying into the air, smoking.

"STOP OR SHE DIES!"

Panting, Rane and Harry peered around the edge of the sofa. Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione's throat. Harry made a quick motion as if to leave their cover; Rane jerked him back down roughly.

"Drop your wands," said Bellatrix, eyeing Ron. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is."

Ron stood silent, breathing heavily, glaring at Bellatrix with a hot-blooded audacity that made Rane feel a surge of fierce affection for him. Bellatrix jabbed the dagger into Hermione's neck, gripping a handful of her hair in the other hand. Beads of blood appeared at the dagger's point.

"I said, DROP THEM!" she said loudly.

Ron reluctantly bent and lay Wormtail's wand on the floor.

"Pick them up, Draco," Bellatrix snapped at once. The boy she was addressing - a blonde-haired young man with a pointed face, standing between the unconscious Lucius and Narcissa, who was clutching at him with desperate terror - jerked, looking frightened.

"And YOU, behind the sofa, Potter!" Bellatrix added, jerking her head towards Rane and Harry. "YOU, STAND UP WHERE WE CAN SEE YOU!"

Harry began to stand, but Rane was faster. She rose slowly, stepping out from behind the sofa slowly, her wand held before her. Bellatrix locked eyes on her, clearly surprised to see anyone but Harry. Rane held her ground.

"Well," said Bellatrix after a moment, her voice quiet. "Rane Roth. Isn't that your name, dearie?"

"That's my name," said Rane, very quiet.

"She's from the Order!" Greyback said from the other side of the room, glaring at her. "Let me have her!"

"Hush!" Bellatrix said sharply. Her eyes had not wavered from Rane's. "I want her for myself. She's got a bit of . . . Oh, an axe to grind with me, haven't you, dear?"

"Let her go," Rane said softly. Her wand had not wavered from Bellatrix, but now it was shaking slightly. She had not felt such anger surging through her since her childhood, and she could feel her control over herself slipping. If Ron, Hermione and Harry were here when she lost it . . .

"Oh, she's _angry_ ," Bellatrix said, her voice lithe and joyous, and loosed a tinkling laugh. "How dear she is! Still so upset about my dear cousin, I suppose? Oh, Severus told us all about your little _tryst_ ," she added, smirking. "He says you've an awful time keeping your filthy half-blood temper under control. Is that true, _Rane_?"

Rane was trembling so severely now that she could barely keep her wand trained on Bellatrix. The light around her was beginning to rise . . . She could feel her eyes flickering . . . And now, Bellatrix's smile was beginning to sag a little -

Suddenly, there was a strange, creaking sound above them. Rane and Bellatrix both looked above them. Dobby was sitting on the chandelier above them, both hands on the chain. He was unscrewing it, and Rane had the space of a mere moment to realize it.

She threw herself aside. Bellatrix did as well, dropping Hermione where she had stood. The chandelier fell with a tinkling, deafening crash. Rane dashed forward, wasting no time in scooping Hermione into her arms and dashing back towards Ron, who was still staring at this sudden cacophony with clear shock. Harry had thrown himself out from behind the sofa and tackled Draco, and as Rane watched, he wrested the wand from Draco's hand, staggering backwards. Narcissa clutched at her son, dragging him away from the fray, her face pale and harried. Greyback lunged towards Rane, his face transported with rage, but Rane aimed her wand at him and in a bright red flash of light he was lifted off his feet and thrown against the far wall, where he fell into a heap, motionless.

And amidst the chaos was Dobby, who with a wave of his long-fingered hand disarmed Narcissa, glaring at her with a fiery hatred that Rane had not suspected. Bellatrix, who had at last staggered to her feet, stooped, snatched Greyback's wand from the ground and aimed it at Rane, but Rane aimed her own.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" she screamed, so loudly that the cords on her neck stood out. The rage she felt was almost insurmountable, and she could feel the pulsating power beneath her skin, ready to burst out. Bellatrix's wand flew from her hand, clattering to the ground some ways away. Bellatrix turned to Rane, her face transported with fury.

"FILTHY HALF-BLOOD!" she shrieked at Rane, her face reddening. "A PROPER MATE FOR SIRIUS, WEREN'T YOU? AND A PROPER MOTHER FOR HIS FILTHY MUDBLOOD BROOD -"

"SHUT THE FUCK - _UP!"_ Rane screamed. Her wand sprayed silvery violet sparks from its trembling tip. "YOU KEEP HIS NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH -!"

"Rane!" Harry hissed at her from her side. "We have to go, forget her -!"

"You!" this was Narcissa, glaring at Dobby, who stood in the center of the room, his ears flattened. "YOU! You dropped the chandelier!"

Dobby leveled a trembling finger at Narcissa, his eyes cold.

"You will not hurt Harry Potter!" he said loudly.

"You dirty little monkey!" Bellatrix shouted at him. "How dare you! How dare you take a witch's wand? How dare you defy your masters?"

"Dobby has no master!" Dobby cried. "Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to free Harry Potter and his friends!"

Before Rane could act further, Harry had grasped her, Ron and Dobby, and in a swirl of darkness the five of them Disapparated on the spot with Harry's pilfered wand, to where Rane did not know.


	53. Here Lies Dobby, A Free Elf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rest well, friend

The next thing Rane knew was falling through salt-smelling air, and then landing on cool, rough sand.

She staggered to her feet, staring around her, feeling dazed. She was on a long, temperate beach. Behind her, the sea was rushing against the shore, foaming and rough, grayish-blue against the starry sky overhead. She stepped back as the wake neared her boots, dampening the sand where she'd just landed. Crickets chirruped around her, and she peered into the sky, feeling disoriented.

There was a groan to her left, and she turned her eyes down the beach. There were five figures, staggered over some twenty feet or so, as if their Apparition had been hectic and jumbled, leaving them strewn across the beach like wreckage survivors. The nearest to her was Harry, who was straightening from where he'd clearly just lain the form of the goblin who Bellatrix had been interrogating. Near his long-fingered hand lay the ruby-crusted sword, glittering benignly in the dim light. Beyond them, Rane could make out Ron, lifting Hermione's limp form into his arms and hurrying up the beach towards the wavering sea lavender that surrounded the coast. Further on, she could make out a small cottage through the fog.

"Are you okay?" Rane asked Harry, grasping his shoulder. He turned his eyes to her, looking as shell-shocked as she felt.

"I - er - yeah, I think so," he stammered. "Are you?"

"Oh, Jesus," Rane said softly, her eyes past Harry. Harry turned quickly.

Dobby stood there, not far from them, clutching his chest and looking at Harry. The hilt of Bellatrix's dagger protruded from his chest. As they looked, he stared down at the dagger, then fell awkwardly toward the sand, quivering.

"Dobby?" said Harry, starting forward. "DOBBY!"

Harry tripped forward and caught the little house elf in his arms, falling to his knees. Rane drew her wand, kneeling at his side, but when she saw the wound, she slowly put it back into her pocket.

"No - Dobby - Rane, HELP HIM!" Harry stared at Rane with wild eyes.

Rane looked at him, silent, then back down at Dobby, who was looking up at Harry, his eyes shining. Harry glared at Rane, then turned his head toward the cottage.

"HELP! SOMEONE - HELP!"

"Harry, no," said Rane gently.

"WHY DON'T YOU HELP HIM?" Harry shot at her, his eyes burning. He looked at her with a fierce indignation that bordered on hatred. "YOU'RE AN AUROR, YOU CAN HELP HIM -!"

"We can't help him," said Rane, still very soft. She reached over and took one of Dobby's hands into her own. His fingers closed over her own with panicky tightness, cold and trembling.

Harry glared at her for a moment longer, his eyes shining, then turned to Dobby, who was reaching out towards him with his free arm as if for succor. Harry lay him on the grass beside them. Across Dobby's front, a dark stain was now spreading, and his breath had become quick and unsteady.

"Dobby, no, don't die, don't die . . ."

Dobby continued to look up at Harry with an expression close to rapture, full of adoration and without fear. He drew a shaky breath and with clear effort spoke two words to him:

"Harry . . . Potter."

And with this, he fell very still and said no more.

The hand that had grasped Rane's now loosened and fell away. Harry knelt over him, grasping the elf's face in his hands, saying his name again and again. Rane remained where she was, letting him have his moment to absorb what had happened.

As she sat kneeling in the sand, she heard thudding footsteps approaching and lifted her eyes. Several figures were striding towards them; she could make out Dean and Luna, the two Hogwarts students that had been imprisoned along with Harry and Ron. There were two more behind them, and as they drew nearer, Rane realized that it was Bill and Fleur, of all people, both in nightclothes and looking anxious.

"C'mere," Rane said softly, and reaching out she gently pulled Harry away from Dobby's body. He was weeping silently, and at first she thought he might try to hit her, so acute had his anger been moments before. Instead he turned to her and embraced her with panicky tightness, burying his face in her shoulder. She curled her arms around him and hugged him to her as they knelt on the sand, stroking the back of his neck.

The four figures had reached them, but Rane cast them a dire look over Harry's shoulder and they all stopped where they were. Luna caught sight of Dobby's body and clapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears.

"Give him a second," Rane said to them. "Please."

They did. After a moment Harry moved away from Rane, bent over Dobby and reaching out pulled the dagger from the elf's small body. He tossed the dagger away with clear disgust, then pulled off his jacket and placed it over Dobby's body.

"Hermione?" he said abruptly, glancing up at Bill, Fleur, Dean and Luna. "Is she alright?"

"Ron's taken her inside," said Bill. "She'll be alright."

Harry glanced backwards at Rane, his expression desperate, and she rose to her feet at once, turning to the crowd that had gathered.

"Rane, what are you doing here?" Bill asked her frankly, looking amazed. "How did you -?"

"She helped to rescue us from Malfoy Manor," said Dean. Hesitating, he added, "Dobby went and found her."

"Is zat true?" Fleur asked Rane.

Rane nodded. She glanced back at Harry, who had placed one hand on Dobby's chest and was staring across the ocean, his back to them.

"Are you alright?" Luna asked Rane.

"I'm fine," said Rane. She glanced backwards at the goblin, who was stirring feebly on the ground. "Bill, you worked at Gringott's, right? Do you know that goblin?"

"'Course, that's Griphook," Bill replied at once, catching sight of the goblin. "What's he -?"

"He was in the dungeon," said Luna. She was still staring at Dobby, tears rolling down her face silently. "With Mr. Ollivander and Dean and me."

"Where are we?" Rane asked, looking at Fleur and Bill. "Why did we come here?"

"You mean it wasn't you that Apparated them?" Bill asked.

"No," Rane said, shaking her head. "I think it was Dobby, or maybe Harry. I don't know. I couldn't tell, it was all kind of blurred."

"This is Shell Cottage," said Bill, snaking an arm around Fleur's waist. "This is our home."

Rane shook her head. "Oh . . . Oh, yeah, Ron said . . . He mentioned . . ."

She paused, glancing around her.

"We should get the goblin indoors," she said. She felt a dry, businesslike solemnity coming over her, something she associated with work; the desire to take the reigns and guide those around her, she supposed, must come from her father, who seemed to always become the default leader in any crisis. But she didn't feel like much of a leader right now; what she felt was confused, and deeply unsettled. Beneath her cool demeanor her mind was in chaos: Dobby, perishing hours after he'd roused Rane from her bed, making her clearly complicit. Bellatrix, so near to her, insulting Sirius and Idril. Harry, a hair's breadth away from death in the first half-hour they'd spent together after months of absence. Hermione, tortured, nearly turned over to Greyback. Wormtail, dead by his own hand before their eyes. She had never felt less like an Elf in her life.

" . . . inside."

"What?" Rane looked up, startled out of her reverie.

"I said I'll carry him inside," Dean repeated. He was already bending, scooping up the goblin into his arms. Fleur bent and retrieved the sword, and side by side they hurried up the beach towards the house, away from them.

"We should bury him," said Bill. He was looking at Dobby, his face drawn. "Luna, do you think you could help Harry get up to the -?"

"No, Luna, you go on," said Rane quietly, glancing at Luna. She nodded at once, her eyes still full of tears, and turning strode back towards Shell Cottage. "Bill, is it just the four of you up there? Anyone else?"

Bill shook his head. "No, it's just us, Fidelius Charm. I'm the Secret-Keeper, no one will find us here."

"You haven't been at work?"

"We can talk about that later," said Bill, his eyes on Harry. "Look, I've -"

"I want to do it properly," said Harry suddenly, not looking at them. "Not by magic. Have you got a spade?"

Bill glanced at Rane, then turned and jogged back towards the cottage. Rane stood where she was, watching Harry's back, the cool ocean wind blowing her hair back from her face.

"I'll leave you alone," she said softly, turning.

"No," said Harry at once, and he half-glanced at her over his shoulder. His eyes were red and swollen. "Stay. Please."

Rane stopped, then moved forward and knelt on the sand behind him once again, putting a hand between his shoulder blades.

"Okay."

HALF an hour later found Harry digging a grave at the end of Bill and Fleur's garden, using the spade that Bill had provided. He worked alone, eschewing Rane's help; the sweat was beading at his brow by the end of it, and he worked grimly and silently, without looking at Rane or acknowledging anything around him. Rane sat some ways away, cross-legged on the sand between the sea lavender, watching him in silence, her hands clasped between in her lap. He did not address her, but she sensed that her presence was wanted - perhaps needed - nonetheless, so she remained, waiting. Overhead, the sky began to lighten towards dawn, at first only a glow of pink on the horizon over the grim, thrashing ocean. At length, Rane realized that Luna had appeared at her side, along with Ron, Dean and Hermione, who was wrapped in a dressing gown, her face pale. Ron grasped her about the waist as she approached. Bill and Fleur were not far behind, grasping hands.

At last, Harry emerged from the hole he'd made, throwing the spade aside. He grasped Dobby's body, carrying him towards his final resting place, and placed him at its edge, falling to his knees before him.

"We should close his eyes," said Luna, stepping forward. She dropped to her knees, and tenderly rolled each of the elf's eyelids shut.

"There," she said, glancing up at Harry. "Now he could be sleeping."

Harry picked up Dobby's form, climbed into the hole he had made, and laid the elf down gently on the soft, sandy earth, placing his small hands atop his chest. He stared down at Dobby's face, now peaceful and placid with his empty gaze obscured, and then climbed back out laboriously. They all gathered around the grave, staring down at the little house elf.

"I think we ought to say something," said Luna. She looked around. "To say goodbye. I'll go first, shall I?"

Everyone looked at her. She stepped forward, clasping her hands behind her back and addressing the elf before them.

"Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It's so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I'll always remember what you did for us. I hope you're happy now."

She turned and looked expectantly at Ron, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, "Yeah . . . thanks, Dobby."

"Thanks," muttered Dean.

"Will you say something too, Rane?" Luna asked, looking at her. "In Elvish?"

Rane looked down at the tiny body beneath her. She cleared her throat.

" _Si'e gwanna Menel_ ," she said softly. She touched her chest, then trailed her fingers off into the air. " _Hiro hyn hidb ab'wanath_."

" _Hiro hyn hidb ab'wanath_ ," Harry echoed, just as he'd done the night Albus had died. "Goodbye, Dobby."

Bill raised his wand, and the mound of reddish sandy soil moved over the grave and covered Dobby's body for the final time.

"Do you mind if I stay here for a moment?" Harry asked.

None of them did. They all moved inside, leaving him alone.

SHELL Cottage was lovely, reminiscent of Rane's childhood home in many ways; the colors were light, pastel, and photos of both Fleur's family and the Weasleys adorned the walls (Rane even caught sight of one of Percy). A merry fire danced in the corner, and everyone was making themselves comfortable in the livingroom while Fleur busied herself in the kitchen, making tea and pouring wine.

"How is everyone?" Ron was asking Bill, sitting down at Hermione's side. Hermione still looked pale and unwell, but far more alert, in any case. Rane tweaked her shoulder as she strode by, and Hermione offered her a wan smile.

"They're okay, now that they're out of the Burrow," Bill replied. "We've moved them all to Muriel's," he added as Ron looked bewildered. "They're bound to know you're with Harry, so they're going to target us, of course."

Harry entered abruptly, covered in mud and Dobby's blood. Fleur, who had emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron, gestured towards the hallway.

"You can wash your 'ands in 'zere," she said gently. Harry remained where he was.

"They'd have targeted you guys anyways," Rane said, curling her legs beneath her Indian-style beside Luna on one of the sofas. "That was a smart move. No one mentioned it to me."

"It wasn't Order business, just between us," said Bill, looking a touch uncomfortable. "We had to be careful, you understand, Ginny being so young and all -"

"How are they protected?" Harry asked as he came back into the room. "The Weasleys, I mean."

"Fidelius Charm," Bill replied. "Dad's Secret-Keeper. There's one for us too, don't worry," he added as Rane opened her mouth. "I don't think they're quite as keen on Fleur and I, but you can never be too careful -"

"Where are Griphook and Ollivander?" Harry interrupted.

"'Zey are still 'urt, 'Arry," Fleur replied, looking at him cautiously. "'Zey will need to sleep -"

"I need to talk to them right away," Harry replied.

"No," said Bill, getting to his feet.

"I'm going to wash up," Harry said. The authority in his voice was startling, and everyone responded to it. "Then I'll need to talk to them both."

With this, he strode out of the room. As his footsteps diminished, Bill looked at Rane.

"What is going on?" he asked her sharply.

Rane shook her head. "You know that's not my business to discuss," she said quietly, reciting this for perhaps the hundredth time.

"Well, forget Harry, what's going on with you?" Bill said, his voice rising slightly. "What's going on with _you_ , Rane?"

"What do you mean?" Rane asked him, a trifle truculently. "Dobby came to the house, asked me to come help Harry, I came . . . Here we are."

She spread her arms, as if demonstrating.

Bill watched her for a moment, chewing his lip, as if deciding whether to go on. Rane returned his gaze, silent.

"Okay," he said at length, as if deciding that it wasn't worth pursuing. "Fine. Fleur - come on."

He and Fleur strode out of the room. A moment later, Rane - as well as the rest of the room, who were all perfectly silent, listening - heard them confronting Harry in the hallway, asking about why he needed to see Griphook and Ollivander.

The sound of thundering footsteps rising the stairway came to them in a moment, followed by Bill striding back into the room, his face set.

"Rane, a word?"

She rose, following him out of the room. He led her into a broom closet adjacent to the kitchen, where he shut the door, closing them into semi-darkness.

"Rane, can you explain to me what Harry's up to?" he asked her. His fractious tone suggested that he already knew what her answer would be. "You show up here with a dead house elf, a semi-conscious goblin . . . Hermione looks like she's been tortured, but Ron refuses to tell me anything . . . And none of us have seen you in ages, what's -?"

"'Scuse me," Rane said, trying to move past him. Bill, however, put one arm across the entrance to the door, barring her. She looked over at him, grim in the dim light.

"Bill, I made a promise."

"Well, we may well be past promises at this point!" Bill snapped at her. Then, as she tried to duck beneath his arm, he grasped her wrist, staring into her eyes. "Rane, what is happening? We need to know, or we can't help -!"

"Let me GO!" Rane suddenly hissed, jerking her hand free roughly. Bill recoiled. Rane remained still for a moment, looking at him, then took a step back, dropping her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "Bill, it's . . . it's been a rough night. Please, let's just drop it. I don't have it in me right now. I really don't."

Bill looked at her for a moment, his eyes flickering between her own.

"Fleur's made a bed for you downstairs, across from the livingroom," he said. His voice was cool. "Make yourself at home. We'll talk tomorrow."

Rane nodded, not meeting his eyes, then turning she strode from the room.

The bedroom was simple, adorned only with a single bed and a nightstand, but Rane took it gladly. She crawled beneath the blankets, leaving her wand on the nightstand, and lay on her side, staring out at the crashing ocean beyond. The sound of the waves would have been gentle, placating, in any other situation, but tonight it was loud, caustic, bringing to mind scenes of death, loss, horror.

Rane had spoken to Sirius at great length about Peter Pettigrew. She couldn't help but find herself wondering now, after seeing him die before her eyes, if he'd deserved what happened to him. She had never met Harry's parents, though she loved him, and neither had he. What had caused that silvery hand to turn on its owner? Was it something Harry knew, that he had never shared with her? What else had he never told her? And the way Bill had looked at her tonight . . . How ashamed of her he was . . . And could she blame him? She'd done the bare minimum in the Order, biding her time away at Grimmauld Place for the rest of it, weeping into her whiskey and eschewing the whole world. What kind of a woman was she? What had she become?

She felt a sudden, almost crippling sense of loneliness, of not belonging; how had she gotten to this place in her life? It seemed not so very long ago that she had just been a pretty unremarkable young woman, graduating from Hogwarts, going to work as an Auror, with only her own fulfillment in mind, with an insurmountable work ethic and guts out the gills. Now here she was, not yet thirty, alone most of the time, unemployed, estranged from her friends, estranged from her people, estranged even from her own daughter. Her chance at a normal life - at a man, a good man, and a home, and a kid - had been taken from her. And how had she fared since? In the years since?

For the first and last time in her life, Rane felt a cold, sulky resentment rise inside her for Sirius Black. A year, just one measly _year_ was all she'd gotten, and it turned out that for Rane Roth - the Auror, the half-human, the daughter of a _maethor,_ the tough and clever and unsympathetic resistance fighter - a year with a man was all that was required to undo her. How completely and pathetically she had fallen for him, and what a troublesome bastard he'd turned out to be! She'd ended up alone anyway, knocked up and robbed of her very vitality after he'd gotten himself killed, like some Civil War-era widow left to tend the wasted farm with her apron tied dutifully and her eyes red with misery forever after. Had she never met him, would things have turned out differently? If she had just gotten out of bed and shut the window against the cold wind all those years ago and then gone right back to sleep, rather than traipsing off downstairs to the point on the Black porch where their two trajectories would intersect . . . what would things be like now? If she had turned Sirius away rather than giving into his warm mouth on hers that night, and for so many nights afterwards . . . if she had kept him right where he was, sitting across the table at each Order meeting where he could look at her wistfully all he wanted to . . . if she had listened to her father and retreated from Sirius, retreated from the pitfalls of the plunge -

"Bullshit," Rane whispered under her breath. The sound of her own voice startled her.

It _was_ bullshit, though. His face swam before her, and the memory of him was suddenly, heartbreakingly close, whiffing out her anger like a weak candle. The nights they'd spent together, drunk on wine, laughing, curled together in bed and talking into the wee hours; the feeling of his fingers interlacing with hers; the gentle touch of his hands, warm and strong, wrapping around her waist, and the feeling of his mouth, warm and rough, on her neck. His eyes in the sunlight, so gray they had seemed almost ashen. His voice, his manner of speaking - quick, pensive, temperamental; his London accent, which Rane had once jokingly described as "posh Cockney" (he had _hated_ that, and had spent the rest of the afternoon imitating Rane's own Southern American accent with surprising accuracy). The smell of him, the taste of him. The heat of his breath against her, the sensation of his heartbeat, steady and strong, beneath her hand. The feeling of him, of loving him, the rightness of it. His lips forming her name.

Suddenly she felt a shame so profound that it nearly undid her. No, she did not regret Sirius, no more than she regretted Idril. Sirius had been good, and what had come after he was gone . . . that was all Rane, and no one else. She had returned to her broken self once his love had departed from her, that was all. If there was redemption left for her, she didn't know how to find it.

 _You're the best one_ , Sirius had told her, when she'd dreamt of him the night after he had died. _I wouldn't give any of it up. Not for anything. Not even after this._

Rane squeezed her eyes tightly, feeling tears seeping from them and trickling down her cheeks, insipid as they were indisputable. She fell asleep that way, her long dark lashes damp with the tears that continued to trickle down her smooth cheeks until her breath lengthened, her long hair pooled behind her, curled into a slim comma beneath the thin blanket. Above the ocean beyond, the sun began to rise, fiery and insatiable, casting its red light over her face.


	54. Shell Cottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another goodbye

Rane tried to leave Shell Cottage the following morning, collecting her sparse belongings and getting as far as the beach before the thudding footsteps reached her ears.

"Rane!"

She turned, her long hair rippling about her face as she stood among the sea lavender. Harry was pounding after her, still in his bedclothes, his wand clutched in one fist. He skidded to a halt before her, spraying sand, out of breath.

"Where are you going?" he gasped at her.

Rane stood where she was, looking at him in silence.

"Rane, we need you here," Harry said. "You can't go yet. Stay a bit. Just a bit."

"Harry -"

"Please."

Harry was looking at her imploringly. Rane sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"What for?"

"Just . . ." Harry looked awkward. "Look . . . I just . . . I don't want you to go yet."

Rane met his eyes, her lips pursed. Harry tripped forward abruptly and hugged her tightly. Rane could feel the quick triphammer of his heartbeat against her chest, and squeezed him to her.

"I'll stay," she said, pulling back from him and examining his face. "For a couple days. That make you feel better?"

"A little," said Harry, but he was smiling now.

"You gonna tell me what it is you guys are planning?"

Harry looked pensive. "Yes," he said tentatively. "If Ron and Hermione agree."

Rane shifted her weight. "Harry, I know this is your business, but if you let me in a little bit, I swear I can help you guys."

"I know."

"Then what is it?"

Harry shook his head. "We're just trying to be careful, Rane."

Rane took his shoulders and shook him gently. "Then let me give you what I have. Please." She paused, then, her voice thickening, "let me do something useful."

Harry looked into her eyes, his green meeting her hazel. He nodded.

"Fine. Just . . . Please stay."

Rane grabbed his head with both hands and planted a loud kiss on his forehead. "I wish I could say no to you, you little shit," she said, grinning. "Come on, let's go get some food. I'm starving."

Things were strange at the cottage in the following days. Griphook remained in his room for the most part, hiding in the dimly lit quarters he'd been afforded and requesting his meals be brought to his chambers (Fleur acquiesced, but not without a large amount of muttered French curses). Dean and Luna threw themselves into chores about the house, collecting firewood, tending the garden and assisting Fleur in the kitchen where she would allow it. Hermione, Ron and Harry remained in their own rooms for much of the time. Rane had been granted her wish; she visited them in their quarters frequently, where Hermione was often to be seen hovering over a cauldron of Polyjuice Potion, her thick hair fluffy and flyaway.

"Are you guys ever gonna tell me what you're planning to do with it?" Rane asked for the umpeenth time as she sat cross-legged on Hermione's bed, watching she and Ron crouched over the cauldron.

The two of them glanced up at her. Harry, who was sitting with his back against the door, fingering the wand he'd wrested from Draco Malfoy, looked at her pensively. The three of them exchanged glances.

"Harry -" Hermione began.

"We're planning to break into Gringotts," said Harry loudly.

Rane's eyebrows rose.

"Can I ask why?" she ventured.

"There's something we need in one of the vaults," said Ron tentatively.

"Okay," said Rane, "but have any of you ever been in Gringotts? The security is just . . . Bananas. It's the TSA of Diagon Alley."

"We've all been," said Hermione, sounding chastising, "we've just got to get past the security. I think we'll be alright, if we follow the plan."

Rane fell silent, watching them, chewing her thumbnail.

"Griphook," she said at length.

All three of them looked around at her. She lowered her hand.

"I guess he's helping you," she said unnecessarily.

Hermione, Ron and Harry glanced at one another. Ron turned back to her, nodding.

"Yeah," he said. "I mean, he's not being nice about it -"

"Yeah, because goblins aren't nice about damn near anything," Rane cut in. "Bill could probably tell you."

Harry sighed loudly, rubbing his face.

"Rane, we really don't have much of a choice right now," he said. "He's the only one that knows Gringotts, he's the only one that can get us inside -"

"That's fine," Rane cut in. "Just . . . Be careful of him. And don't double-cross him."

Hermione cast a decidedly cool glance towards Ron, who looked at his hands, his face reddening. Rane jerked her chin towards the cauldron.

"Who are you going to use?" Rane asked, switching gears. "Any idea?"

Hermione shrugged. "Some," she said noncommittally. "It's a bit dodgy, either way."

Rane nodded, chewing her lip.

"Wish I could help you guys," she said wistfully.

"What about Wade?" Ron said.

"We're both fugitives," Rane said, and sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. "If either of us showed up at Gringotts we'd be arrested straightaway, no question. And after Malfoy Manor . . . I dunno." She shrugged. "May be a death sentence at this point."

There was a loud knock at the door downstairs. Rane, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all froze, meeting eyes, then got to their feet quickly and hurried out the door of the room, jostling one another.

When the four of them had managed to run downstairs, they found Fleur, a hand towel thrown over one forearm, looking at the front door corridor fearfully. Bill had drawn his wand and was edging towards it, his body rigid.

"Who's there?"

"It is I, Remus John Lupin!" called a voice over the howling wind. "I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret-Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!"

Bill pocketed his wand at once and hurried forward, wrenching the door open. Remus tripped forward into the doorway, his face white. Rane pushed through Hermione and Ron and ran towards him, grasping his face in her hands and staring at him with panicky desperation.

"Remus?" she said softly.

He met her eyes, looking into her eyes. He was soaked with rainwater, his riding cloak's hood laying over his head limply, his eyes avid.

"Rane?" he said, looking utterly bewildered.

Rane laughed, then grasping his face placed a loud kiss on his cheek.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him, unable to conceal her smile.

Remus laughed, looking wild-eyed, then took her hands in his own.

"It's a boy," he said softly, beaming. Then, raising his voice and looking over her shouder, "it's a boy! We've named him Ted, after Dora's father!"

Hermione shrieked behind them.

"Wha - Tonks - she had the baby -?"

"Yes!" Remus cried, laughing. His face was transported, and he looked younger than Rane had ever seen him. "Yes, she did!"

All around them came cries of "congratulations" and "it's a boy!" as everyone absorbed this joyous news. Rane took Remus by the shoulders, beaming at him, then embraced him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder

"Are you okay?" Remus asked, pulling away from her and examining her. "The last time we -"

"Oh forget about me!" Rane said loudly, laughing. "You're a dad!"

Remus placed a loud kiss on her cheek, then striding around her went to Harry and embraced him with equal fervor. The night at Grimmauld Place might never have happened.

"You'll be Godfather, of course," he said, pulling away and grasping Harry by the shoulders.

"M-me?" Harry stammered.

"Yes, Dora quite agrees, no one better -"

Rane crossed her arms, grinning. Harry was opening and closing his mouth, looking shell-shocked.

"I - yeah, blimey -"

Fleur had hurried off and fetched a bottle of wine; several goblets were hovering before her now. Rane took a seat at the table, beaming over at Harry, who had caught her eye and was grinning self-consciously, his face red.

"I cannot stay long, I must really get back," Remus was saying, though he was taking a seat beside Rane nonetheless. He bowed graciously as Bill pushed a goblet over at him. "Thank you, Bill, thank you -"

"Toast," Rane said loudly, lifting her own goblet. The rest of the table's occupants lifted their own. "Agorel vae. You did well, Remus. Here's to Teddy Lupin."

"Salut!" Fleur cried, and they all lifted their goblets and drank deeply.

"'Oo does 'e look like?" Fleur asked Remus, sipping at her goblet.

"I think he looks like Dora, but she thinks he is like me. Not much hair. It looked black when he was born, but I swear it's turned ginger in the hour since. Probably be blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks's hair started changing color the day that she was born." He drained his goblet. "Oh, go on then, just one more," he added, beaming, as Bill made to fill it again.

"You're glowing," Rane remarked, her chin resting on one fist, beaming at him.

"I don't remember being this happy," Remus replied, returning her grin. "I imagine you must've felt the same way when you and Sirius -"

He stopped, seeming to catch himself. Rane's smile faltered, but she regained herself quickly.

"How's Tonks?" she asked.

"Excellent," said Remus hastily, nodding. "I can't remember ever seeing her happier. And Teddy . . . Rane, you really must come see him soon, you won't believe it, he's so perfect . . . Idril will adore him . . ."

"Oh, I bet she will," Rane replied, grinning. She did, too; Idril had a soft spot for babies, always had. Iliwynn maintained that Idril spent most of her time in the nursery, cooing to the Elf infants and singing songs for them.

THEY spent a good evening together, drinking and recounting their various goings-on. At the end of it, Remus, considerably less sober, pulled his cloak on and bade his goodbyes with a big, goofy grin.

"I really must get back," he repeated, nodding and beaming.

Rane stepped forward, quite drunk herself, and threw both her arms around Remus's neck, then placed a kiss on his cheek.

"Give that to Tonks for me," she said, pulling back and looking into his eyes, both hands on his cheeks. "I miss her. I miss both you guys. Can't wait to meet Teddy."

"I will," Remus said, nodding. Rane noted, alarmed, that tears were standing in his eyes, and she tripped forward and kissed his cheek again.

"We'll see each other again soon," she said quietly, without any idea if this was true. "Soon. Very soon. You guys stay safe. Okay?"

Remus nodded, his mouth downturned, then hugged her again. He pulled away, giving her a last glance, then turned and strode into the stormy night. In a flash he'd Disapparated.

THE morning that Ron, Hermione and Harry were prepared to infiltrate Gringotts, Rane awoke and met them on the front stpes of the house as they made their way to the beach.

"Is it time?" she asked, wrapping a scarf about her shoulders.

Hermione nodded, pursing her lips.

"Will you let me know you're okay?" Rane asked them gently. The cool morning air was rough, throwing her hair about her face. "The way I showed you?"

Ron nodded. Hermione suddenly tripped forward and hugged Rane. Rane hugged her back tightly, feeling tears stinging her eyes.

"Oh, girl, you better be so safe," she said softly, squeezing Hermione. "Don't you dare get hurt."

Hermione pulled back, looking up at Rane with tears standing in her eyes. Rane took her face in both hands, her own eyes now overbright, and placed a kiss on Hermione's forehead.

"You take care of yourself, and you get in touch," she said softly. Hermione nodded, her lips pursed, tears now flowing from her eyes. Rane hugged her again tightly.

"We'll be alright," Ron said, and Rane turned and hugged him as well. She kissed his temple loudly.

"You better be," she said. "You just better be."

Then Rane turned to Harry, who was standing nearby, his face unkempt, tears streaming from his eyes. She wrapped him into her arms and hugged him to her as hard as she could, her hand caressing the back of his head through his messy hair.

"I love you, kid," she said gently.

"Love you too, Rane," Harry said softly at her shoulder.

They stood that way for a moment, holding one another, then Rane released him. He stepped back, staring at her for a moment, then moved towards Hermione and Ron, who stood close at hand. Hermione held a flask of Polyjuice Potion in one hand.

"You guys be careful," Rane said.

All three nodded. With that, Rane turned and strode back towards Shell Cottage, tears streaming from her eyes.


	55. The Last Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order of the Phoenix meet one last time

Rane remained at Shell Cottage on Bill's insistence, where the scant remainder of the Order of the Phoenix met for the first and final time the evening Harry left. The members were few now, and the gathering was decidedly grim. The gathering felt . . . Strangely futile to Rane, like the dying throes of a drowning person. The faces that gathered around the table at Shell Cottage were bleak, pallid, forlorn. Fleur put together what Rane thought was a bit of an overly lavish meal ( _coq au vin_ , stacks of scalloped potatoes, and a massive coconut pie), but even she looked peaky and not particularly well as they sat down together. Kingsley, Remus and Tonks showed up, as well as Molly, Arthur and Wade. Together with Rane, Bill and Fleur, there were just nine of them, after all this time. So many of the Order had been killed, or vanished, or tortured into madness. The Order of the Phoenix was nearly exhausted. Rane felt a jolt of discouragement as she stared around at the faces at the table: Molly and Arthur, both thinner and more careworn, none of their former joviality evident now; Remus, scarred and shabby and frowning; Tonks, back to a mouse-brown ponytail, her post-natal glow all but dissipated; Kingsley, his shoulders sagging and his mouth downturned; Wade, slumped in his seat, his sharp good looks clouded by the grayish-blonde five o'clock shadow on his cheeks and the bags beneath his eyes. There were gashes all along his forearms and one of his hands was wrapped in bandages; the scar on his face from Snape's curse was clear and pale in the dim firelight.

Bill got to his feet, grasping a flagon of ale in one hand.

"Alright, everyone," he said, "I know it's been a little while since we've met, but I thought that -"

" _We_ ," said Fleur.

"Yes, _we_ thought," Bill amended, "that it was high time for us to get together and discuss what's happening. We all know communications have been a little restricted since the new regime, and . . . Well, it seemed like the right time."

There was a pause. No one spoke.

"Right, so let's go around and talk about what's happening," Bill said, taking his seat again.

"Wade, any news?" said Remus, looking at him.

Wade leaned forward, clasping his hands before him on the table. "Same thing since the last time we met, I reckon. Attacks on the border every two or three days. They seem to be fortifying their ranks, I'd say . . . Yesterday night there must have been a score on each side of us. We've called in reinforcements from some of the neighboring cities, but they're pretty overrun themselves." He shook his head. "It's not looking great. We're holding them off, but they've got numbers even if they don't match our skill, and eventually we'll get overtaken."

"Iliwynn can handle it," Tonks said.

"For now," Wade said.

"What about the Ministry?" said Molly, glancing around. "Kingsley?"

Kingsley shook his head, his earring flashing in the low light. "We have not been made aware of much," he said slowly. "I believe they may suspect I am involved with the Order. Perhaps others are learning more -"

"Not me," said Tonks. "I've only been back a week here and there, mind you, but they haven't said boo to me . . . All they've got the Aurors doing is chasing down Muggle-borns and helping the Snatchers stay out of Azkaban. Mind you," she added ruefully, "I think they may know about me too."

"We feel it may be best if Dora stays home with Teddy in the coming weeks," Remus put in, glancing over at her. "I don't feel the risk is worth it, personally . . ."

"Your 'usband is right," Fleur agreed, nodding. "Zat place is far too dangerous. Teddy needs you more than 'ze Ministry."

Tonks rolled her eyes, but Rane thought she looked troubled. Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead. Rane glanced over at him, feeling a stab of sympathy. He'd been forced out of the Ministry weeks ago. The Death Eaters did not abide blood traitors.

"Rane?" Remus was looking at her. "Any word from Hogwarts?"

Rane shook her head. She'd spent several nights over the past month or two creeping around the borders of the castle trying to catch some intel, but the magical barriers in place had kept her from getting too close. Hogwarts itself was radio silence. The only thing noteworthy she'd gleaned was that the students appeared to still be taking their meals in the Great Hall _en masse_ , judging by the lights she could see flickering from a distance in its massive windows.

She shook her head. "Snape's got the place pretty much tied down."

"Students? Staff?" said Remus.

Rane shook her head reluctantly. "I don't even know if he's letting them outside anymore. I didn't see so much as a thestral."

Another grim silence fell. Rane felt the eyes of her companions on her, and reaching over she pulled the _coq au vin_ towards her and began to ladle some onto her plate, trying to avoid eye contact. She knew what would come next thanks to exhaustive experience; the Order meetings almost always circled back around to it.

"Rane, what about Harry?" said Tonks. "What did he say, before he left?"

Rane pushed the _coq au vin_ back to the center of the table. The sound of the bowl rasping across the surface of the table was loud and grating in the silence. She placed her napkin in her lap and wiped her mouth before answering.

"He didn't say anything," she said at length, pushing her food around her plate with a spoon.

"Bullshit," said Wade at once. "That kid wrote to you two and three times a week after Sirius died, I know how close you are."

"What's wrong with us being close?" Rane asked, bristling.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with it," Kingsley put in, lifting both of his large hands. "It is only natural that Harry would seek you out after Sirius passed, Rane, but you must understand that he does not trust anyone else quite as much as he trusts you."

" _And_?"

" _And,_ we all know you're the only one that knows what he's up to," said Wade. "You don't think it might be time to -?"

"No," Rane interrupted, giving him a hard look. "I don't. And I'm not going to have this conversation again," she added, glancing around her. "You guys have asked me this every single goddam time we've been together, and my answer hasn't changed, and it isn't _going_ to change. Okay?"

"But we could help him," Arthur said imploringly.

Rane shook her head. "No we couldn't. When Harry needs help, he'll ask for it. Until then, leave it alone."

Wade sighed, turning to Bill. "Did he say anything to _you_ before he left?"

Bill shook his head, swirling the contents of his mug around and looking cross. "I tried to get something out of him, but he stonewalled me."

"Oh, I'm so _worried_ about them!" Molly burst out. "Rane, are you speaking with them still? Regularly?"

Rane nodded, giving her a soft look. "We talk all the time," she said. "They're fine, Molly, better than you'd think. They're looking after each other."

"So how _have_ you been contacting them?" Wade asked her suddenly. "Certainly not with owls, they'd draw attention . . ."

Rane hesitated. Wade sat back in his chair, its creak loud in the sudden silence, and folded his arms, looking at her hard.

"If you taught him _Tenu'pedin,_ I swear to God I wouldn't even be surprised."

Rane flinched, dropping her spoon with a clang. "So what if I did?" she snapped at him. "How else is he supposed to talk to me while he's all over the place being tracked?"

" _Rane!_ " Wade admonished. "The council would lose their _shit_ if they - !"

"Don't ' _Rane'_ me, you know what his situation is!" Rane retorted. "If it's between the council being pissed off and Harry needing help and not being able to contact anyone, I think you know which one I'd pick, dad. And I'd hope you'd do the same."

"I wouldn't piss off the council if I didn't have to."

"Oh, yeah? So what the fuck am _I_ doing here, then? Did you guys come to a mutual agreement about you getting a Muggle knocked up?"

Wade slapped the table with the flat of his hand, so hard that the dishes rattled alarmingly. Fleur and Tonks recoiled, looking bewildered.

"Girl, you know the rules, you KNOW the rules!" he said loudly. "You saw what I paid when I broke them!"

"What do I care if they decide never to talk to me again?" Rane shot at him, her anger rising. "They've done nothing but piss all over me since I was a kid because I'm half human, what the fuck is the difference if they -?"

"IDRIL!" Wade shouted, his face reddening. "WHERE WOULD _SHE_ GO? THE SEMINARY?"

Rane fell silent, returning his angry gaze. He was right, of course, but the fury she felt was as acute as his, and she was well aware that any more words exchanged on the subject would get them nowhere. She sighed, rubbing her face.

"I'm not talking about Harry anymore," Rane said flatly. "He's safe. He's doing important work. That's it."

A dense silence fell between them. Rane got to her feet, throwing her balled-up napkin onto her plate.

"Thanks for the chicken, Fleur," she said, and turning on her heel she strode out of the kitchen. A moment later the bang of the screen door came to them; she'd gone out onto the dusk-lit beach.

Wade sighed roughly, running his hands through his long hair. "That girl is going to be the death of me," he murmured.

"She's just trying to do right by Harry," said Tonks. "He's as good as a son to her, Wade. You've seen them."

"Yeah, I've seen them," Wade agreed petulantly. "I've seen her take up Sirius's mantle before he was six months in the grave. I don't think it's good for her."

"She eez a grown woman," Fleur told him, a little coolly. "It is 'er decision."

"Does _anyone_ have any idea what he's doing?" Arthur asked flatly.

Remus cleared his throat. "He's trying to stop You-Know-Who," he said. "That much is clear. And it's clear, too, that he's doing it on Albus's orders. And Albus knew what he was doing, in case any of us need reminding."

"That doesn't excuse him from pulling Rane into it," Wade said.

Remus gave him a cold look. "Wade, Rane is the closest to Harry, she's all he's got right now besides Ron and Hermione. Is it any wonder he's confided in her? And is it any wonder she's guarded his secret?"

"Whatever else he is, Wade, he's still just a boy," Molly added. "And with no parents of his own."

Wade looked at him for a moment, then sank back, rubbing his chin.

"Maybe you ought to listen to her when she says she won't share what he's doing," Remus said slowly. "I've know Harry for many years and he's inventive, he's smart. If he says he knows what he's doing, it's likely he's telling the truth."

"It's not just his neck at stake," said Wade.

"No, it's all of ours," Remus agreed quietly. "But Albus told us to trust in him. And I think we're _all_ trying to do that, Wade, even when it's difficult."

A dense silence fell. Wade rose, placing his goblet down.

"I'll go talk to her," he said. He glanced around at the rest of them, then, in an uncharacteristically diffident tone, added, "I cry pardon. From you all."

With this he strode from the room. The screen door banged shut behind him.

Wade padded out onto the sandy yard barefoot. Rane's figure was visible further on, ankle-deep in the wake. He approached her from the back. As he came upon her, he found himself looking at her curiously. There was something about the this-way-and-that jut of her body that suggested she wasn't listening to her surroundings, something Elves did instinctively almost always. She was bending at the waist, grasping shells and then tossing them into the waves, the wind teasing the ends of her hair gently. Not on alert, in other words. Open to attack. Almost welcoming it.

"Rane."

She turned, and Wade was stricken suddenly with how like her mother she was. The mouth was the same - full, downturned - and so were the cheekbones, high and lean, giving her face an odd heart-shaped quality beneath her wavering dark hair. But the eyes, those were all Elf. They were upturned, wide, large and bright, preternaturally aware; even in the dim light, they shone like beacons. If he ever doubted that she was his daughter, they told tales of their own.

"What?" she said, sounding disinterested and watching him warily.

"Just wanted to see what you were doing," Wade replied.

"I like the ocean at night," Rane said softly, watching the crashing waves before her. "It makes me feel . . . I dunno . . . Peaceful."

"Elbereth found peace in the sea at night," said Wade softly. "She felt that the waves were the pulse of the earth."

"I'm nothing like Elbereth."

"You're more like her than you think, Rane."

Rane looked at her father, then sighed roughly and ran a hand down her face. She drew a cigarette from her pocket and lit it with her wand, the red glow sending her features into sharp resolution.

"You've stopped writing," Wade said

"Well," said Rane, then shrugged. "I've been busy."

"Being mad at me?"

"Busy," said Rane noncommittally. Wade looked at her sharply.

"Busy drinking your fool self to death?"

"Hey!" Rane said sharply. She drew deep, blowing out smoke in a plume, watching him coolly. "Is that necessary?"

Wade shook his head, drawing one hand over his face.

"Oh, Rane," he said, muffled behind his palm. "Come on."

"Come on, what?" Rane snapped at him.

"Come _on_!" Wade said, his voice rising. "You won't tell me what's going on with Harry? After everything that's happened?"

"I already told you," Rane said calmly, "that I don't want to talk about him anymore."

Wade recoiled, then shut his mouth. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. Rane blew a plume of smoke out into the starry evening.

"He's got something," Rane told him. "Something big. I'm waiting for him to contact me. I feel like it's going to be soon," she added as Wade opened a mouth to protest.

"And how do you know that?"

"I feel it."

Wade was silent, chewing his lip, watching her. Finally he shook his head.

"You gotta do what you feel like you need to do," he said. He suddenly reached forward and clutched her shoulders. "Rane, I have a terrible . . . Just a bad -"

"I do too," Rane said. "For months. I tried to tell Remus about it, but he didn't understand."

"It's _umbarae_ ," Wade said, his voice dropping. He regarded her with his bright blue eyes, his eyebrows drawn. "That's what it is, as I live and breathe. So you have to be careful. Do you hear me?"

Rane nodded. Wade shook her gently.

"I don't know who it's meant for, Rane, just like I didn't know when Albus . . ." Wade shook his head. "I thought it might be you, if I'm telling the truth. But this time, I just . . ."

They looked at each other for a moment in silence, neither of them wanting to say what was on their minds. Rane dropped her cigarette, still half-cashed, and smashed it into the sand beneath her boot heel.

"Dad, I think this might be it." she said at last. "I think . . . I feel like I might be getting close to the end of -"

" _Stop_ it!" Wade said, so sharply that Rane recoiled. "You stop that talk right now, Rane Roth, you just shut your everlasting mouth. Do you hear me?"

Rane did, looking at him solemnly, but Wade's eyes were overbright, and after a moment he sighed roughly and pulled one hand down over his face.

"Oh, girl, you just had to go and fucking say it," he said coarsely.

Rane reached out and took one of his hands in her own. He grasped it tightly, looking down at her from eyes that were damp with tears.

"Dad, I don't know, I'm just saying how it feels," she said gently.

Wade sighed again, then reached down and grasped her hand in both of his own.

"Rane, if you'd lived as long as I have, if you'd been around for this long and only had one kid to your name . . ." He shook his head. "You'd know how awful it is to hear something like that come from her mouth. Don't you ever, _ever_ say that."

"It isn't up to us."

"Sure it is!" Wade said to her sharply. " _Sure_ it is!"

Rane recoiled at his tone, giving him a hard look. " _You're_ the one always talking about Eru Iluvatar and how there's a bigger plan for all of us, right -?"

Wade laughed, then buried his eyes in one hand, his face turned down in a moue of misery. Rane hesitated, then reached out and touched his forearm.

"Dad, please, don't," she said. As always the sight of her stoic and battle-hardened father at the height of emotion made her uncomfortable. "It's fine. I just . . . It's just a feeling."

Wade sighed, shook his head and ran both hands through his long hair. He fixed his red eyes on her.

"You just work on sticking around for your kid," he said to her, his tone harsh. "And that's _all_ you focus on. And in the meantime, you keep the rest of this shit on the backburner. Idril's what you should be worrying about right now. You understand?"

Rane looked at him silently, saying nothing.

"Is she okay?" she asked at length. "I'm going to see her tomorrow."

"She's fine, she loves it there," Wade replied, shaking his head. "She'd like that, I think. Maybe you'd better."

They regarded one another for a few more moments; Wade, a tall, imposing man with his long blond hair wavering in the breeze outside Shell Cottage, his bright blue eyes flickering like beacons and the hilt of his sword glittering malignly in the dim, and Rane, lean and remarkably beautiful, her thick brows drawn, both hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans, her shoulders smooth in the dim starlight, staring up at her father.

"I love you, dad," she said quietly.

At this Wade's mouth turned down, and he placed a hand over his eyes once again. He squatted on the sand, his shoulders shaking gently. Later, reflecting on their meeting, Rane realized that she had simply articulated what he had likely been reflecting upon for perhaps weeks; things were coming to a close, and _umbarae_ always meant death for someone. It felt like their bond, hard-forged and thick as thieves since she was nigh on a week old, may be in jeopardy of ending at last. She knelt before him, feeling tears of her own threatening behind her eyes. How often she'd wept in the last few months. Had she ever been this way before?

She grasped both of his hands in her own, then placed a kiss on each of their palms, staring up at him.

" _Ceru glenn'u'nin_ ," he said softly, shaking his head. The tears were streaming from his eyes now, and he clasped her face in his hands. " _Mist u'on'nin_."

The words - _Don't leave me here, don't leave me alone_ \- were as terrible as a knife to her heart. Rane shook her head, then reaching up placed a kiss on his cheek.

" _Im mel cin'adar,_ " she said softly. "I love you, dad. I could be wrong. But if I'm not, I want you to know. You did okay. Okay?"

Wade shook his head, then bending placed a teary kiss on her forehead as well.

"You go to Ylle Thalas and see Id tomorrow, girl," he said softly. He kissed the top of her head again. "And don't you dare cut out on me yet."

He rose then, squeezing her shoulder, and strode away towards the cottage. It was the last time Rane saw him before the end.


	56. Varda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth of Rane's power manifests

IDRIL was waiting for Rane when she arrived in Ylle Thalas the next morning, at the entry to the hospital wing. She was making a beeline for her mother before Rane had even cleared the steps, and the fervor with which she threw herself into Rane's arms was alarming.

"'Ama!" she shrieked. "'Ama, 'ama!"

"Babygirl, take it easy," Rane said softly, curling her legs beneath her and sitting on the stone floor, accepting Idril's frenetic affections. She had pulled back and was holding her mother's face in both her hands in her typical fashion, examining her, drinking her in. "I'm right here, love, don't worry."

"'Ama, bad," Idril said, then screwed up her face, as if trying to decide which word to use. She stared at her mother, then placed both small, chubby fists on her temples. "Head, 'ama, 'leep!"

"You had a bad dream?"

Idril nodded frantically at once.

"What was it about, baby?"

Idril shook her head, her lip trembling, then suddenly she burst into tears. Rane scooped her up at once, holding her tight.

"Baby, it was just a dream, don't be scared," Rane said gently, stroking her head. "Don't be scared, baby. Mama's here."

"'Ama," Idril said softly, squeezing her. "'Ama, Idril."

"Your mama isn't going anywhere," Rane said softly, rocking her. "Baby, soon I'll take you home. Soon it will be safe."

Idril sniffed. "'Afe," she repeated, her sobs becoming hiccups. "'Afe."

"Yep. Safe and sound."

"'Afe and sound," Idril murmured. Her breathing was lengthening, and Rane was surprised to notice it. Falling asleep was Idril's stress reaction, it had seemed, and she was doing it not five minutes after Rane had arrived.

"You sleepy, baby?"

"'Leep," Idril repeated, her voice now sluggish. "'Leep, 'ama."

"You go on and sleep, baby," Rane said softly, hugging Idril to her tightly. "I got you."

She was tucking Idril into one of the cots in the hospital wing ten minutes later. Idril was out cold, her rosebud mouth relaxed and her sooty eyelashes fluttering gently. Rane sat at her bedside, watching her, both hands curled in her lap, her face troubled. Most of the rest of the beds were occupied by Elves in various states of injury; most appeared to have been cursed, and a handful wore bloodstained bandages over their limbs or heads. Fiendfyre again, Rane was certain. The Death Eaters weren't pulling any punches, that much was clear.

"Her dreams have been dire of late," said a voice behind her. Rane turned to find Iliwynn striding into the room, looking exhausted but lovely. "She often comes to me in the night, seeking comfort. I give it as I can, but . . . " She sighed. "I only wish I could do more."

"You do plenty, Iliwynn," said Rane, turning her eyes back to Idril, troubled. "Has she told you what she's dreaming about?"

Iliwynn sat beside Rane, her eyes also on the sleeping girl. "She cannot say," she said softly. "Not yet. Mayhap soon."

"Do you think she feels it too?" Rane asked her bluntly. It was no use avoiding the subject; if Wade and Rane felt _umbarae_ 's approach so strongly, there was no doubt that Iliwynn did, too.

"I am certain of it," Iliwynn replied. She sat beside Rane, and reaching out smoothed the blanket over Idril's chest. "The eyes of children see much, even when closed. Or so it is said."

She reached out and took Rane's hand in hers, squeezing gently. Rane turned to her, meeting her gaze.

"Now we come to it," Iliwynn said gently. "I know not what now will pass, Rane. We must take heed, and take caution. Do you understand?"

Rane nodded. "Dad told me the same thing."

"Then he told you well."

"What do you think will happen?" Rane asked her softly.

Iliwynn shook her head. "I know not," she said. "Iluvatar has turned his gaze from us. I cannot see. What will follow is up to us. And up to your young friend."

Rane looked at Iliwynn for a moment, struggling. All at once, everything in her was fighting against spilling the whole story to her. It was so powerful that Rane placed her fist over her mouth, her brows descending. Iliwynn, however, smiled at her. The effect of that smile was palpable; Rane felt as if a warm ray of sunshine had fallen upon her.

"Do not speak, _nin'mel_ ," she said. "I know well what you would say, and it would do you a disservice. Do not break your vow for such as me."

"You . . . ?"

"I know what the dark lord has done," Iliwynn told her. "For many years now, long and long. For all his discretion, he did not remember those whose eyes see farthest."

"How?" Rane could not conceal her surprise.

"The creation of such things resonates," Iliwynn replied. "The magic that surrounds them is something that we can all perceive, if we are clever enough to discern what it means. The _fae'ssä_ are difficult to ignore, even when veiled. I felt their resonance, though in the early days I knew not what it meant. And then, many years later, Albus Dumbledore came to me. He had discovered one, and destroyed it, and sought council."

"Horcruxes," said Rane softly. It was as if a massive weight was being lifted from her shoulders. "That's what you mean. The _fæ'ssä_ , I mean. Horcruxes."

Iliwynn lifted her brows, looking uncharacteristically derisive. "Do you call them so?" she said, sounding vaguely amused. "'Horcrux' . . . An ugly word for an ugly thing, I suppose." She hesitated, then added, "how many has he made? My advisors suspect that at least three exist."

"Seven."

" _Seven_." Iliwynn closed her eyes for a moment, her mouth downturned.

"Some of them have been destroyed."

Iliwynn kindled at this, looking at Rane with renewed hope. "More than the first?"

"Yeah. At least three of them are gone. Harry's seen to it. That's what he's doing, he's trying to destroy the rest of them."

Iliwynn leaned forward with sudden fervor, her eyes burning. She grasped Rane's wrists tightly.

"And destroy them he must!" she said ardently. "Destroy them he _must_! And you must help him, should he require it! Do you understand?"

Rane nodded, bewildered.

"Whatever it takes," Iliwynn said. " _Whatever it takes_. No matter _what_."

"What do you mean?"

Iliwynn released her, watching her. Her blue eyes were sharp and acute.

"There is no other way to defeat the Dark Lord," she said slowly. "He will resist all other attempts upon his life. And until his greatest weakness is revealed, his followers will continue to amass. For mortals flock to those they perceive as strong, do they not?"

"I guess they do," said Rane hesitantly. She glanced back down at Idril, who was still fast asleep, and passed a hand over her brow, which was cool and dry. "His greatest weakness?"

Iliwynn watched her, her eyes narrowed.

"That you must discover for yourself."

"Iliwynn, _Christ_!" Rane slapped her knee, her voice low and harsh. "He's _killing_ everyone, is this really the time for -?!"

"It is the time, yes," Iliwynn said, "and you will be faced with a test, Rane."

"That makes no _sense_!"

Iliwynn looked at her gravely. "Not to us, mayhap."

"Then what _can_ you tell me?"

"That you or I may perish," said Iliwynn frankly. "And so, too, may Harry."

"Harry won't die on my watch," Rane said, her teeth clenched.

"It is not up to you."

" _Sure_ it is!"

"No." Iliwynn shook her lovely head fervently. "We are expendable in this war. And though I love you as my own," she added, placing a hand on Rane's cheek, "I must concede that he must be destroyed, at all costs. _At_ _all_ _costs_."

Rane nodded. She felt lightheaded, strange.

"For her sake," said Iliwynn. "For your daughter's and your own." She touched Rane's cheek, looking at her solemnly with her bright, strange blue eyes. "Remember the face of your father. Remember. For us all."

Rane nodded, feeling bewildered. Beneath them, on the moors below, the braying of Elven horses could be heard, faint and harmonious on the cool, whistling wind.

THAT night, in bed at Shell Cottage, Rane dreamt.

She rose to her feet, looking around. It was Ylle Thalas; Rane did not doubt her first instinct this time. The trees were tall and vine-strangled, the air was warm, and the wavering grass was shin-high already. In the coming weeks, as late spring turned to summer, it would grow past her thighs, as it did each and every year since Rane could remember. Big, feathery green ferns bloomed at the roots of the trees, wavering gently in the breeze. Through the boughs, starlight shone gently.

"So you've found your way."

Rane turned. There was a young woman sitting there, at the base of a nearby tree, legs crossed Indian-style and hands clasped primly in her lap. As Rane looked, she rose to her feet.

She was tall, lean and lithe, with long dark hair and bright blue eyes. Her mouth was wide, her cheekbones high; her face was unlined, and she smiled. She wore a pair of jeans and a white tunic, open-throated; the leather strings dangled to her midsection.. Her feet were bare as she padded towards Rane.

"Who are you?" Rane said.

The woman laughed. "The first question you ask is not about where you are? How very curious."

Rane glanced around her again at the firefly-choked forest. "I've been here before. The night Sirius died, when he . . ."

The woman nodded. "Visited."

Rane looked at her, silent, scrutinizing her. The woman laughed again, a deep and reverberating sound.

"Am I dreaming?" Rane asked.

"Close!" the woman looked pleased. "Close enough, anyways. We might continue with it, I suppose." She continued to watch Rane, her expression curious. "Am I not familiar to you? I'm most interested in what you see."

"What I see? What do you mean?"

The woman spread her arms. "What do I look like to you? What form do I take?"

Rane was bewildered by this question, but the sincerity of the woman's curiosity was all over her face. She looked her up and down.

"You look like me. Except for the eyes, I guess, yours are blue."

"How _curious_!" the woman looked intrigued; a smile played about her mouth. "The _eyes_! But it almost makes sense. Something I cannot understand. How very curious."

"Okay, so _why_ do you look like me?"

"Perhaps it's you who looks like me?" said the woman, her eyes twinkling.

"Who _are_ you?" Rane asked again, feeling a touch of exasperation.

"I have many names," the woman replied, clasping her hands behind her back, her face becoming solemn. "The Eldar, they of your father's blood, call me Elbereth, or Glithoniel, when they wish to evoke me. But you are not of the Eldar, so I tell you now my true name, which is Varda. It's this you may call me, if you would."

Rane stared at her.

"Varda. The Ainu."

"So we are called by some," Varda said, nodding. She paused, looking puzzled. "Though I don't know if I would call myself such now. I've been here on this plane with you since you were kindled. It's all very strange, and I don't fully understand all of it. None of us do. But I do know that I was an Ainu before I came to you, and I may yet be among the Ainur once we are no longer together, when our song is finished."

"Wait, you're - so you're _not_ Varda, the Ainu, or -?"

"I am," said Varda, nodding. "Or I was. Am I? I don't know. I know my purpose, and my name. Much of it is difficult to describe. What was, and what will be, the intricacies of these things are _always_ difficult to describe, I'm sure you'd agree."

"So you're . . . You've been . . . I'm sorry, I don't understand." Rane clutched at her head. "How have you been here since -?"

"You know of the prophecy," said Varda.

Rane dropped her hands. "The prophecy?"

"Dally not, Rane Roth, I've been with you from the start, and I see your mind as I see all else," said Varda, her voice suddenly stern. "You know of what I speak."

Rane took a step back. The idea that she was in the presence of an Ainu, one of the creators of all existence - a being so legendary and fabled that their very names had become creed among the Elves - was harrowing, frightening, filling her with a sort of religious terror she had never experienced before. Had her father been present, Rane had little doubt that he would be prostrate with his face in the dirt, weeping at this woman's feet. Iliwynn had _prayed_ to Varda in council meetings, for crying out loud.

"I'm sorry, this is all a little . . ." Rane pinched the bridge of her nose between her finger and her thumb for a moment, squeezing her eyes tightly. "This is a little overwhelming. You're throwing a lot at me all at once."

Varda reached out and grasped Rane's hand in one of her own. "I understand, and I am sorry. I sometimes forget. It's been a very long time since . . ."

She stared off at a point behind Rane for a moment, seeming to ponder. Presently she gathered herself and clasped her hands before her again.

"I have brought you here to speak to you," Varda said, with an air of getting down to business. "You know of the prophecy. Your father has spoken of it, your people have spoken of it, and you have spent a great deal of time thinking on it. Though you would not speak on it with your friends if you can help it, they know, and you know. So let us tarry no longer on it."

Though it wasn't a question, exactly, Rane sensed that she was waiting for affirmation, so she nodded.

"The _Peredhil_ is the Ainu reborn," said Varda. "And so we are one, until our time here is finished. Do you understand?"

"No, but . . ." Rane sighed. "Are we the same . . . _person_?"

"No," said Varda gently, "but we are _one_. You are my _fana_ , and I am yours. Do you know the word?"

"Body. Aspect."

Varda nodded. "And as we are so twined together, if one of us should leave, the other would not survive. So I have protected you, protected _us_ , for many years now."

"All those times I couldn't control the power," Rane said suddenly, "that was you?"

Varda hesitated. "Yes and no," she said. "That power derived from me, but it grew and multiplied within you. It belongs to us both."

"But it was _you_ controlling it?"

Varda shook her head. "No. Well . . ." Again, she looked puzzled. This was certainly not the ethereal, omnipotent deity Rane would have pictured. "The bottom of your mind, the animal part, that was what cast my power out during those times. As the body fights a virus, so yours fought what it felt to be a threat. Neither of us had a say. Both of us were put to sleep beneath it."

"So - so you can't _control_ it -?"

"Neither of us had control over it," said Varda. "And both of us do."

Rane groaned, dragging her hands down her face. " _What_?"

"Think of it this way," said Varda, waving one hand. "The sea . . . If you were to take a bowl, and scoop up the water, you would control that water, in your bowl. But the rest of the turf does as it pleases. You control the sea, and yet it controls itself. Do you understand?"

Rane shook her head, aggravated. Varda, however, nodded, looking satisfied.

"But, when I was a kid, sometimes it would -"

"Rane." Varda's voice was stern once more. "We've more important matters to discuss. That's passed."

Rane felt a surge of resentment. "I've been dealing with this _all my life_ , you expect me to just _forget_ about it? Now that someone can actually _answer_ my questions?"

Varda looked at her for a moment speculatively.

"I have been with you since the beginning," she repeated. "I've felt your pain, the same as you. And could I answer your questions, I would. But these things . . . This power that you possess . . . Though it derives from me, and my kin, I do not understand it. Only one understands it, and that being is beyond us for now."

Rane fell silent.

"What have you come here to tell me?" she asked.

For the first time, Varda looked sad. The change around them was abrupt. The wind suddenly picked up, blowing icy cold against Rane's bare arms, and the boughs above them wavered within it, dropping greenish-gold leaves all around them.

"You are strong." said Varda. "And you must be strong for what comes next."

Rane looked around herself abruptly; the trees, the cloudy night sky, the turf. It didn't feel like a dream.

"This is real," she said softly. She bent, grasped a handful of soft black earth, crumbled it in her hands. The roots of the tall grass, thin as hairs, stood against the dark soil, white as snow. Rane looked at Varda. "Isn't it? isn't it real?"

Varda knelt, grasping Rane's hand. Her eyes met Rane's.

"I have come to love you so," said Varda, and her eyes were suddenly brimming, overbright. "So help me. Would that they knew how very much. You are all that we should have been, and so delicate, and so tender, all that the Eldar never knew. I watched you fall in love with him, with Sirius Black, and I watched you lose him. I watched Idril, kindled against all odds, and you holding her in your arms, scarcely an hour old. I watched you weep, and laugh, and take your repose, and fight, relentlessly. I watched you so very often, Rane, so much. And I came to love you so, as my own. We have shared bed and board and bottle, and we are one, so we are. So we are."

Rane watched her, silent. They knelt together, mirror images, Varda grasping Rane's hand in both her own, her mouth downturned.

"May I ask you a question?" Varda asked.

Rane nodded. "Of course."

"Do you fear death?"

Rane shook her head. "No. I fear life."

Varda squeezed her hand; the tears in her eyes spilled down her cheeks.

"As do all who are wise enough to know its horrors," she said, nodding.

"What have you come here for?"

"I came to herald the end," said Varda. "To us all, perhaps. It approaches, very quickly now. We must fight, and the war must end, one way or another. I know not what will come of it, but I know that. And that death comes."

"Who?"

Varda shook her head. "I know not, nor does any man or Elf or Ainu. Nor, perhaps, Iluvatar Himself, though I have often wondered. I believe that fate is greater than us all, and that we must obey its call." She touched Rane's face gently. "Your own call will come, and very soon. You must heed it. It will be soft, no greater than a dove's call, but you must heed it. Do you understand?"

Rane shook her head. Suddenly, she was aware that she could see through Varda; the trees behind her were visible, faintly, wavering through her fair face.

"Varda -?"

"I cannot linger," said Varda. "I must go. We may meet again, Rane Roth, indeed we may. Though I do not know. I do not understand much."

"Varda!"

The wind was rising, and Rane's hair whipped about her face. She reached out to Varda, but her fingers were not there any longer. Now only her eyes, bright blue, lingered in the growing mist.

"I do not understand, but I have grown to love you so," Varda's voice came again, now faint. "I have grown . . ."

And then she was gone, and Rane was enveloped in the white fog, falling.


	57. At the Hog's Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aberforth Dumbledore offers some words of wisdom

Rane sat up in bed abruptly, gasping, and for a moment she remained there, staring around her, trying to remember where she was.

It took a second, but she arrived there: Shell Cottage. She'd just had a strange dream . . . A really strange dream, one she wanted to lie back down and analyze before she drifted back to sleep . . . And judging by the tide out the window, which had moved hardly at all since she'd lay down, not much time had passed, either. Twenty minutes tops, probably closer to ten. Maybe even less.

Rane became abruptly aware of a weird, bluish-white glow to her left. She turned, squinting against the light. A small, golfball-sized sphere of light was floating at her bedside, casting off tendrils of smoky light and rotating lazily.

She sat up in bed at once; the whitish-blue ball of light hovered before her, lazily spinning, tendrils of light falling off of it. She reached out and nudged it towards her gently with the tips of her fingers until it was hanging before her.

"Harry?" she said, addressing the globe of light. She heard the sleep in her voice and cleared her throat before trying again. "Harry, you there?"

"Yeah, we're here." The voice that emanated from the light was slightly distorted - like someone speaking through a thick pane of glass - but familiar and excited. "Can you talk? Something's happened."  
"Of course I can," Rane replied at once, throwing the blankets off her knees and curling her legs beneath her. "What's going on? Are you guys okay? How'd it go? You know, the . . . The thing?"

"We're safe." This was Hermione, sounding slightly out of breath. "It went fine -"

"Fine?" This was clearly Ron, sounding somewhat scandalized. Rane could picture him pacing behind Hermione and Harry with perfect clarity. "Are you mad? What part of that was fine?"

"Oh, I suppose I could've done something better, Ron, is that it?" Hermione retorted waspishly.

"Blimey, I'd have chosen another exit strategy at least -"

"Well I didn't exactly have a selection of options, now, did I -?"

"We're alive, aren't we?" Harry snapped. Addressing Rane now, he added, "I reckon it did get a little -"

"Scary," Hermione supplied.

"Scary?" Rane echoed, her brow furrowing. "Wh -?"

"Listen, forget Gringott's," said Harry hastily. "Are you alone?"

Rane swung her legs over the side of the bed and rose, stretching richly and casting about on the ground for her jeans. She had a feeling that she would be needing them very shortly. As she peered around the bed, the ball of light floated after her lazily, sending its gyrating silvery-blue light across the room and sharpening Rane's shadow against the wall. Outside, the waves continued to crash.

"Yeah, it's safe, let's hear it."

"We need to get inside Hogwarts," said Harry.

"Yeah, and you've been the only one patrolling the castle from the Order," Ron added.

"How'd you know that?" Rane remarked, surprised.

"Potterwatch," said Hermione promptly. "Lupin mentioned you a few times -"

"Not by name, of course," said Ron.

"Yeah, they're calling you Sprinkle," Harry told her, sounding amused.

"Sprinkle?" Rane paused with one leg in her jeans, staring at the ball of light with an expression of insult. "Sprinkle is my code name on Potterwatch? Sprinkle?!"

"Fred wanted you to be Puddle, it might have been worse," said Ron gravely.

"Anyway, they said you'd been trying to see what was happening around the castle," Hermione pressed on hurriedly. "No one else has been able to get close to the castle, and - well, I've read a bit about Elves since we've been on the run -"

"A bit, she says -!"

"Hush, Ronald - we thought that you might be able to help us, because Elves are so good at hiding in plain sight! Rane, do you think you could?"

Rane, who was buttoning her jeans, continued to watch the ball of hovering light pensively.

"Is there a Horcrux in there?" she said at last.

Hesitation from the other end. Rane could almost see the three of them exchanging glances.

"Yes," said Harry at last. "There's definitely one there. I saw it. Inside his head."

There was no point asking who he meant. Rane turned, snatched up a shirt and pulled it over her head. Catching sight of herself in the mirror beside the bed, she was a little startled at how strangely familiar it was. A white tunic, open-throated, with two leather ties dangling to her midsection. Where she'd seen it, she wasn't sure; Fleur had lent it to her some days ago when she realized that most of Rane's wardrobe was back at Grimmauld Place, but Rane hadn't so much as picked it up since then, and she certainly hadn't worn it.

"Rane?" said Harry.

"Okay," Rane heard herself saying. "So you need to get inside the castle to destroy it."

"Yes." Ron this time. "And Harry thinks we ought to go soon."

"Right now, actually," Hermione added.

"That castle is lousy with Death Eaters," Rane warned them, tying her hair back into a ponytail and yanking on her boots. When was the last time she'd gotten a full eight hours of sleep? "We'll have to come in kind of on the oblique if we don't want to get caught."

"So you'll help?" Harry asked.

"'Course I'll help, goober," said Rane long-sufferingly. "But listen, you guys, it's going to be dangerous. Very. You understand?"

"Yes." All three of them.

"We have to do this," Harry added stoically.

"Okay. Hogsmeade is the best bet, but no matter what, there are going to be alarms. And it'll be hard for us to all get there at once . . . Where are you guys, anyways?"

"Dunno, exactly," Ron admitted. "It's a bit of a long story."

"Doesn't matter," Rane said, waving this off. She felt around on the bedside dresser and snatched her wand up, shoving it into her pocket, then pulled her belt from where it hung over a chair and began buckling it around her lean hips, sliding her sheathed sword to her left side almost without thinking. "We'll just need to meet up there. Head for the Hog's Head. Got it?"

"Got it." All three of them, sounding confident. Rane felt heartened, and a little unsettled; whatever Harry had discovered, it had certainly made an impact on him. He was raring to go.

"Alright, then let's break it off. I'll Apparate on a ten count once the spell's gone. Cool?"

"Cool." Harry sounded a little fraught, but his voice was steady. "See you there?"

"Bet your ass. See y'all in ten."

The ball of light whiffed out of existence without further fanfare, leaving Rane in the dark room once again with the afterimages of the blue-white glow floating across her vision. She raised her wand, counting silently in her head. Outside her window, the waves continued to crash against the shore in the growing dark. The foamy caps were illuminated briefly by the brilliant flash of whitish-red light that erupted inside the little bedroom in shell cottage that signaled Rane Roth's disappearance, beaming through the windowpanes like beacons. Then it was gone, leaving the sea to its inexorable murmuring in the dark that followed.

WHEN Rane's boots hit the damp stone-flagged streets of Hogsmeade, there was already an alarm blaring nearby, as loud as a klaxon. She backed up at once, pressing herself against the nearest brick wall; fortunately enough, she'd happened to land just a step or two away from a shadowy alleyway. Another four feet to her right and she'd have been right in the middle of the main road, in direct sight of what sounded like at least a dozen Death Eaters not far away. The thought made her feel the way looking down from the edge of a high place might have.

"Accio cloak!" someone was bellowing. A pause, then: "Not hiding under your wrapper, then, Potter? Spread out. He's here."

Rane released a breath, feeling a rush of knee-weakening relief. If they hadn't managed to snatch Harry's Invisibility Cloak, there was still a chance they could get out of the middle of this shit undetected. She peered cautiously around the corner of the building, her wand still gripped in her fist. Four - no, six or seven of them - were dispersing from Hogsmeade's center, all armed, all with heads on the swivel. She turned her eyes towards the east, where she could see the sign for the Hog's Head swinging in the night breeze on its hinges.

"What about the Dementors?" another Death Eater shouted - Crabbe, Rane thought. "Let 'em have free rein, they'd find him quick enough!"

"The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hand but his -"

"- an' Dementors won't kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter's life, not his soul! He'll be easier to kill if he's been Kissed first!"

There was a murmur of assent. Rane felt a cold swoop in her belly; Harry, at the hands of a swarm of Dementors, was not something she was terribly fond of imagining. And there was nothing else for it, really . . .

Abruptly she became aware that the coldness blooming in her belly was not just anxiety; the air around her was becoming chilly, and she was aware that she could see her breath puffing out before her lips now. She peered up into the cool night air; the new stars were interrupted by the swift shapes flying above them now. The Dementors hadn't been far, and they clearly sensed their welcome now . . .

"Fuck," she whispered, staring desperately towards the Hog's Head. Its door was still shut, and she didn't know where Harry and the rest of them were holed up . . . They could be circling him right now, for all she could tell - and if Harry got a chance to shoot off his stag, there wouldn't be a Death Eater for miles who would be fooled -

"Expecto Patronum!" she hissed. From the tip of her wand bloomed the slinky form of a leopard; it streaked off down the street, alighting the damp cobblestone, and Rane felt rather than heard the Dementors shrieking in dismay, dispersing at her Patronus's advent -

And then, horrifically: "It's him, down there! I saw his Patronus, it was a stag!"

A stag? Rane mouthed silently, her face crumpling into bewildered distaste.

Her Patronus has vanished around a corner and out of sight, and the Dementors were retreating; the bitter cold had diminished, and the stars were reemerging overhead once more. Before Rane could make a move, however, she saw the door to the Hog's Head open, and a single, gnarled hand gestured from its doorway.

Rane did not hesitate, though she was quite certain that the beckoning from the doorway had been for her three companions; she rushed out of hiding, crouching low, her wand still clasped in one hand, and when she reached the doorway, she was met with Aberforth Dumbledore, wearing an apron and looking quite bewildered to see her.

"Roth?" he said, surprised. And before she could answer: "Never mind, just get inside, 'fore they see you."

Rane didn't need telling twice. She rushed into the warmth of the bar, hearing the advent of heavy bootheels behind her, and dove behind the bar just as the door banged back on its hinges. A slew of Death Eaters had come inside on her heels, and by some miracle, it appeared that she had not been spotted. She crouched on her hunkers out of sight on the ancient and mead-smattered mat that adorned the bar floor, amidst the overwhelming scent of ancient beer, whiskey and mildew.

"Barkeep!" a loud voice bellowed, feet from where Rane was hiding. "Barkeep, out where we can see you!"

"I'm right here, gods damn you," Aberforth said testily, striding towards them, his arms folded. "What is it now? I told you to leave me and my pub be after nightfall, yet here you are bold as brass on my doorstep nonetheless -!"

"Shut your fool mouth, 'fore we do it for you," one of the Death Eaters growled.

"We spotted a Patronus attacking our Dementors," another said loudly. "Know anything about that? Seen any Dementors driven away?"

"Well of course I did!" Aberforth shouted, his voice rising, advancing towards the cluster of Death Eaters. Rane, crouched behind the bar as still as a rabbit and peering out from a gap beside the wall, found herself rather impressed by his improvisation. "You send dementors down my street, I'll send a Patronus back at 'em! I'm not having 'em near me, I've told you that, I'm not having it!"

"That wasn't your Patronus!" said a Death Eater. "That was a stag, it was Potter's!"

"Stag!" roared the barman, and he pulled out a wand. "Stag! You

Idiot - Expecto Patronum!"

The bar's dim, dusty interior was suddenly lit by the bright white shine of a Patronus. Rane saw a quadruped creature gallop past the cluster of Death Eaters by the entrance and vanish into the still night beyond.

"That's not what I saw -" said the Death Eater, though with less certainty.

"Curfew's been broken, you heard the noise," one of his companions told the barman. "Someone was out in the street against regulations -"

"If I want to put my cat out, I will, and be damned to your curfew!"

"You set off the Caterwauling Charm?"

"What if I did? Going to cart me off to Azkaban? Kill me for sticking my nose out my own front door? Do it, then, if you want to! But I hope for your sakes you haven't pressed your little Dark Marks and summoned him. He's not going to like being called here for me and my old cat, is he, now?"

"Don't you worry about us," said one of the Death Eaters, "worry about yourself, breaking curfew!"

"And where will you lot traffic potions and poisons when my pub's closed down? What'll happen to your little sidelines then?"

"Are you threatening - ?"

"I keep my mouth shut, it's why you come here, isn't it?"

"I still say I saw a stag Patronus!" shouted the first Death Eater.

"Stag?" roared the barman. "It's a goat, idiot!"

"All right, we made a mistake," said the second Death Eater. "Break curfew again and we won't be so lenient!"

The congregation began to make their way back onto the streets of Hogsmeade. Aberforth followed them out, sheparding them impatiently, then stood at the entrance glaring out after them before finally slamming the bar door shut. A series of locks clicked into place as he did so. He stood where he was for a moment, still, listening to the departing clack of bootheels on the cobblestone outside. Once they'd faded to his satisfaction, he turned.

"All right, it's clear," he said.

Rane hoisted herself to her feet, brushing at her jeans as she strode around the bar. "Thanks," she said to Aberforth as she strode to the window, drawing the curtains hastily. "I don't know how they managed to mistake a leopard for a stag, but I guess stranger shit has happened."

"Well, they aren't the brightest bunch, are they?" Aberforth was looking towards the stairway, hands on his hips. "Oy! You lot come down! Didn't you hear?"

There was a rustle upstairs, and then Rane saw Harry and Ron appear out of thin air on the next floor, flanked by a faint-looking Hermione Granger. They strode downstairs, all looking harried and out of breath.

"Oh Rane, you made it!" Hermione exclaimed. "When we saw all the Dementors, we thought -"

"That was your Patronus?" Ron asked her. At his side, Harry was folding the Invisibility Cloak they'd just emerged from carefully. "The cat?"

"That it was," said Rane, not bothering to correct him. "You guys okay?"

"Barely," said Harry, accepting her hug with clear gratitude. He turned to Aberforth. "Thank you. I can't thank you enough, you saved our lives."

"You're all bloody fools for coming here." Aberforth replied gruffly. "That goes for you too, girl," he added, looking at Rane. "Worst of all, matter of fact, you bein' the oldest here. Didn't your daddy teach you any sense?"

"Nice to see you too, Aberforth," Rane remarked dryly, still brushing off her jeans.

"Aberforth," Harry repeated. "You're Dumbledore's brother?"

Aberforth looked displeased and said nothing.

"Been trying to keep an eye on you lot, but you're about as slippery as a bucketful of lampreys," he said.

"You sent Dobby."

"Thought he'd be with you. Where've you left him?"

"He's dead," said Harry. "Bellatrix Lestrange killed him."

Aberforth regarded him in silence for a moment, expressionless. After a few seconds, he said, "Shame. I liked that elf."

"Have you got any food?" Ron asked.

"Yes, please, sir, we're really hungry," Hermione added.

"I got food, yeah," Aberforth said, and sloped out of the room. Rane drew closer to the fire at the far end of the bar, her arms wrapped around herself. It was chilly inside.

"D'you know him?" Harry asked Rane as she pulled out a chair with a scree and sat down at one of the wooden tables.

Rane turned her head the way Aberforth had gone, the firelight dancing over her face. "Aberforth? Oh, yeah. He's run this place since I was at Hogwarts, and he was in the Order with my dad."

"He seems a bit . . . " Hermione hesitated.

"Brusque?" Rane supplied, rolling the R comically. "Yeah, there's no doubt about that -"

Aberforth presently reentered the room, bearing a tray laden with bread and cheese and a heavy flagon of mead. He set these down in the center of the table and took a seat himself at the next one over, watching them, one hand stroking his beard, which was almost as long and wild as his brother's had been.

"Roth, I'm afraid to ask, but what brings you out this way? Can't be guard duty for the Order, not this close to the castle."

Rane, who was pouring herself some mead, jerked her head towards Harry without looking at him.

"You two close, are you?"

"Thick as thieves."

"That so."

"Yup."

Aberforth looked at the other three one after the other. All of them were scrabbling at the food like starved things; the bread and cheese was disappearing quickly. Rane wondered with if this was the first time they'd eaten properly since they'd left Shell Cottage, and supposed it likely was. A few minutes of silence passed as they ate and drank their fill. At last, as the three of them were beginning to lean back in their chairs looking full to the gills and slightly tipsy, Aberforth addressed Harry.

"And you, boy? What are you doing here?"

"We have to get into Hogwarts."

"Nonsense."

"We have to," Harry repeated, glancing at him over a handful of cheese.

"Don't be stupid." Aberforth's tone didn't rise, but his face had taken on a curious, almost angry expression. "Hogwarts is licked. You saw those Death Eaters out front. That Caterwauling Charm you all heard? That's the curfew alarm. They sure aren't playing, and it's you they're looking for, it's you they want -"

"You don't understand," Harry interrupted, a little roughly. "Dumbledore - I mean, your brother - he left me a job -"

"Oh, did he now?" Aberforth leaned forward, placing one hand on his knee, giving Harry a look of ersatz fascination. "Nice job, I hope? Easy, is it? Sort of thing you'd expect an unqualified wizard kid to do without overstretching themselves?"

Ron laughed grimly. Hermione was watching this exchange, her face strained.

"I-it's not easy, no," said Harry. "But I've got to -"

" 'Got to'? Why 'got to'? He's dead, isn't he?" said Aberforth roughly. "Let it go, boy, before you follow him! Save yourself!"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I -" Harry looked frustrated, uneasy. "But - but you're fighting too, you're in the Order of the Phoenix -"

"I was," Aberforth corrected him. "The Order of the Phoenix is finished. You-Know-Who's won, it's over, and anyone who's pretending different's kidding themselves. Ask Rane here," he added, nodding towards Rane, who was fingering her mug uneasily. "She's on the front lines, bet she can tell you all about it."

"The Order isn't finished," Rane replied indignantly.

"Oh? How many meetings have you been to these last six months or so? How many Death Eaters have you taken down? What kind of information have you learned from all those nights I seen you prowling around out there on the outskirts of the Hogwarts grounds, eh?"

Rane shook her head, looking at her hands. The truth was that Aberforth was right; the Order was on its last legs. Uttering that aloud seemed like a betrayal, though, so she held her tongue.

"We've got to keep trying," she said. "That's all we can do."

"Fools, the lot of you!" Aberforth spat. "May as well spit in the ocean, the way things are right now."

"Yeah, well morale is low enough as it is," Rane said, meeting his eyes and giving him a cold look. "Maybe we can save the pep talk for another time, huh?"

"Potter, go abroad," Aberforth said, turning back to Harry. "Take these two with you, matter of fact, they'll be on all your tails til their legs wear out. They won't stop hunting you. Get out of the country. And forget my brother's grand plans. He wasn't so good at them as you might think he was."

His eyes strayed to a painting over the hearth. Rane followed his gaze. It was a portrait of a young girl, blonde and pretty and of a curious, indistinct age Rane put between ten and fourteen. She was staring around her meekly, her expression bland, her hands folded primly on the lap of the blue dress she wore.

"Mr. Dumbledore?" said Hermione. "Is that your sister? Ariana?"

"Hush, Hermione," said Rane softly, casting Hermione a warning glance.

"Yes," said Aberforth, his voice terse. "Been reading Rita Skeeter, have you?"

Hermione flushed deep red and said nothing more.

"Elphias Doge mentioned her to us," Harry said, glancing at Hermione.

"That old berk," muttered Aberforth, taking a swig of mead. "Thought the sun shone out of my brother's every orifice, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you four included, by the looks of it."

For the first time that evening, Rane felt the warm ember glow of anger blossoming in her belly. The thought of Albus returned to her suddenly, forcefully: the night he had inducted her into the Order, conjuring two plush armchairs for them to sit and discuss the political climate. The night Sirius had died, how he had knelt before her in her most dangerous form and taken her hand in both of his own and gently answered her when she asked if he was gone (Oh my dear one, I fear that he is, and that we must bear it). The sight of his broken body beneath the Astronomy Tower while the Dark Mark rode the sky high above. She didn't feel any particular urge to suffer any further slander of him this evening, not with things already so precarious.

"Enough," she heard herself saying sharply. She got to her feet, looking at Hermione, Ron and Harry, who had all followed her gaze. "If you guys want to get into Hogwarts, I'll help you do it, even if this one wants to hide in his bar."

Aberforth sprang to his feet, drawing himself up to his full height. Albus had been tall, but Rane thought his brother was just a scosh taller; she stood just over five-ten and found herself looking up to meet his angry gaze.

"I didn't say I liked it, but it's the truth," he said coarsely. "The Order is done, they're finished, and you're a fool if you think otherwise."

"Funny how your hackles go up when I call you yellow, yet every word from your mouth is about how we all should just throw in the towel," Rane snapped at him. "What do we stand to gain from sitting around here complaining about the state of things, Abe?"

"We'll have our lives, for starters -!"

"Yeah, and at what cost?" Rane retorted heatedly. "You'd give up your soul to keep your shitty, useless life? Is that what you'd do? Is that what you'd have Harry do, after he's lost so much to this asshole?"

She turned and spat into the fire, then turned her eyes back to Aberforth defiantly.

"Tovon'tiri," she said roughly. "Do you know what that word means?"

"How the bloody hell would I -?"

"It means coward!" Rane said loudly. "It means a chicken-hearted coward hiding behind his mother's skirts and letting the rest of them do the fighting! That ring a bell for you?"

The two stood glaring at one another for a moment in silence.

"You're too like your father for your own good," Aberforth remarked at length. "Foolhardy and idealistic, he was, ever since I met him when I was still a young man."

"But she's right!" Harry said suddenly. "Sometimes you've got to think about more than yourself! Sometimes you've got to think about the greater good! This is war!"

Aberforth looked at him, seeming to size him up. Then, heaving a sigh, he turned to the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore, addressing her in a lower voice.

"You know what to do."


	58. The Room of Requirement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane, Harry, Ron and Hermione find the survivors of the Hogwarts takeover

After Aberforth's muttered command, Ariana smiled brightly, then turned and walked off, her slight form diminishing until it was consumed by distance. Rane stared at this in bewilderment, then turned to Aberforth.

"What are you -?"

"There's only one way in and out of Hogwarts these days," Aberforth said tersely. He continued to watch the portrait, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture strikingly reminiscent of his late brother.

"Err," Ron said, staring between the painting and Aberforth with clear bewilderment. "What -?"

"You must know they've got all the old secret passageways covered at both ends," Aberforth said. "Dementors all around the boundary walls, regular patrols inside the school from what my sources tell me. The place has never been so heavily guarded. How you expect to do anything once you get inside it, with Snape in charge and the Carrows as his deputies . . . well, that's your lookout, isn't it? You say you're prepared to die. Roth has seen it for herself, I'm sure."

Rane, who had seen only the faintest shadows moving around inside the Great Hall from her distant stations on patrol, barely discernible as human forms even by an Elf's eye, said nothing. She continued to watch the painting, her curiosity piqued. And now . . . Was that . . .?

"Look!" Hermione said, pointing.

Ariana had reappeared and was striding back towards them now, but there was another form at her side . . . As they drew closer, Rane was able to distinguish some of the features of her companion. It was a boy, tall, far too thin, about Harry's age . . . And then, abruptly, she realized that she recognized him. He had blocked her father's path at Hogwarts, on the night that Albus had died.

"Neville!" Harry remarked, sounding shocked.

Neville had reached them now, and as he arrived at the portrait's frame, Rane could see that he was in bad shape indeed; his face was gashed, his hair overlong and unkempt, his clothes torn and filthy. He spotted Harry as he clambered awkwardly down from the painting, and the light that came into his face made him ten years younger.

"I knew it!" Neville said, sounding rapturous. "I know you'd come, I knew it, Harry!"

He had thrown himself at Harry before anyone could say another word.

"Neville - how -?"

Neville pulled back from Ron, still beaming, but now that he was so near, Rane was shocked at his appearance, which had seemed bad at a distance but kept getting worse the longer she looked. One of his eyes was swollen almost shut, there were bruises all along his neck, and he favored his right side when he moved. His face was transported, however, and he tripped forward and grasped Harry's shoulders again.

"I knew you'd come! Kept telling Seamus it was a matter of time!"

"Neville, what's happened to you?" Harry asked him blankly.

"What, these?" Neville shook his head dismissively. "This is nothing. Seamus is worse, you'll see."

"Was it Snape?" Rane asked him, peering at his face worriedly.

"Eh - well - " Neville glanced at her. "I'll explain everything, but we ought to get back. Are you all coming? It'd be nice to have an Auror," he added, looking hopefully at Rane.

Rane's old, familiar response - I'm not an Auror anymore - rose to her lips, but she bit it back at the expression on Neville's face. She nodded.

"Brilliant!" Neville said brightly. "Listen, Abe, there may be a few more coming along shortly -"

"A few more?" Aberforth repeated imperiously. "With the curfew and the Caterwauling charm, how d'you expect me to keep this up? This is a bar, not King's Cross Station -?"

"I know, I know, that's why they'll be Apparating directly into the bar," Neville told him long-sufferingly. "Just send them down the passage when they get here, will you?"

"Thanks for everything," Harry said as he and Rane climbed after Neville, turning back towards Aberforth. "You saved our lives."

"Look after 'em," Aberforth replied. He nodded to Rane. "Keep an eye on these lot, girl. You keep that wand handy."

Rane nodded back to him, then turned and followed Neville down the passageway.

"So all the rest of the passages are closed off?" Rane asked Neville, glancing around her. The corridor had a curious look about it - the walls were stone-flagged and gleaming with dampness, but they seemed glazed, as if under a thin sheen of oil paint. It was magic, but not of a kind she'd ever seen before.

"All of them, yeah," Neville told her from up ahead, glancing over his shoulder. "Death Eaters and Dementors guarding the ones that aren't caved in, anyways. Nobody can get in or out, they've made sure of it. Lucky for us we've got Abe, he's been fantastic. I dunno what we'd have done without him."

"This isn't normal magic, it seems more organic," Rane remarked, touching the walls lightly as they strode onwards.

"Yes, it's very odd," Hermione agreed. She, too, was running the flat of her hand along the stones as they walked. "Did you do it yourself, Neville?"

"No, it was the castle," Neville replied. "I'll explain everything," he added, smiling, as Rane opened her mouth curiously. "It's a bit of a long story . . . Anyways, listen, Harry, they're saying you're up to something out there on the run."

"They're right," Harry replied. "But what's happening with Hogwarts, Neville? We haven't heard anything . . ."

"Well . . ." Neville glanced back at them, frowning. "It's not really like Hogwarts anymore . . . Things have changed. You know about the Carrows?"

"Wasn't she the one that broke your rib the night Dumbledore died?" Ron asked Rane, who nodded distractedly, still examining the queerly glistening walls.

"Well, they're Professors now," Neville went on grimly. "Alecto's teaching Muggle Studies, telling everyone how they've mistreated us and how we should enslave them . . . Loads of nonsense . . ."

"Sounds about right," Ron muttered.

"And Amycus, he's in charge of Defense Against the Dark Arts," Neville went on, "except now it's really just Dark Arts. They're showing us how to cast the Unforgivable Curses, mostly. We're supposed to practice them on students who've earned detentions."

"You're kidding." Rane's tone was deadpan.

"Wish I was," said Neville wistfully, glancing at her. "Couple of students haven't minded much, but most of us have refused as much as we can. We've been sort of banished for it. Loads of us have been in hiding for a while now."

"That's unconscionable," said Rane quietly.

"It's Death Eaters running Hogwarts," Ron murmured. "What'd you expect? Democracy?"

Rane scoffed, but she felt nauseous.

"It was bad for a while, when the Carrows started to suspect I was behind some of it," Neville went on. "We ended up in hiding after a bit, to avoid the punishments."

His tone wasn't light, exactly, but it was offhand enough to make Rane suspect he had been dealing with this for long enough that it wasn't an immediate issue anymore. The implication of this - that these students, some of them ten and eleven years old, had been laboring under the violent despotism of the Death Eaters for the better part of a year now - was sickening.

"How long has it been like this?" she asked him.

Neville shrugged. "Dunno. Months? Since after Christmas, anyway."

Rane exchanged a glance with Harry, who looked as disturbed as she felt. The tunnel was beginning to slope upwards, and ahead was an opening through which light was shining.

"We're nearly there," Neville told them, slightly winded. "Through here -"

He shoved open a broad, rectangular doorway with both hands, exposing a massive, broad room in which a horde of people were standing. Rane stared up in amazement. The walls were adorned with the colors of Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, and Rane could see a litany of hammocks suspended from the ceiling and all along the walls. There were bulging bookcases lining the room, and in the center was a wireless, clearly well-loved and worn, surrounded by chairs and empty cups. Broomsticks were propped up everywhere, and spray-painted proudly along one of the far walls in bright red were the words DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY. It was like walking into some Guevera-era Bolivian resistance fighter's enclave.

"It's the Room of Requirement," she remarked, half-laughing.

"Yeah!" Neville looked back at her proudly. "It's outdone itself, as you can see - come down, you lot -"

The four of them clambered down after Neville. The crowd below them was taking notice of them - or more specifically, taking notice of Harry - and they were beginning to cluster around, shouting Harry's name and whooping.

"Harry!"

"It's POTTER!"

"Ron! Hermione!"

Rane stepped back, staring at the group of people in bewilderment. They were students, as sure as she was born, and few of them looked much better than Neville. The faces were young, marred, bruised but hopeful.

"Okay, okay, calm down!" Neville was saying loudly, showing his palms to the crowd. "Everyone, back up, let them breathe -"

"Who're you?" someone asked, looking at Rane. She turned to Neville, her eyes narrowed. "Who's she?"

"This is Rane Roth, she's an Auror," said Neville. "She's in the Order of the Phoenix. Remus talked about her on Potterwatch, she's an Elf, and she's helping Harry out."

"Sprinkle?" a girl cried, sounding excited.

"Yes, Sprinkle," Neville agreed. There was a smattering of hoots and applause at this. Rane sighed.

"Look, you're a bit of a legend, Sprinkle," Ron said, glancing at her and looking amused.

"Is it true you're an Elf?" a girl wearing the Hufflepuff colors asked Rane, her eyes wild.

Rane laughed uncomfortably. "I'm half Elf on my dad's side," she said. "It's not nearly as cool, I know -"

"She's got loads of powers, my mum said she saw her nearly kill a load of Aurors in the Ministry of Magic when she was fired!" a young boy cried, gesturing.

"Is that true?" Neville asked Rane, looking impressed. "I mean, my Gran said that you'd escaped with Wade Roth, but she never said -"

"We didn't nearly kill anyone, we just -" Rane touched the hilt of her sword, noticing that many of the younger students were eyeing it with clear curiosity. "We reflected their spells, that's all . . . Anyways . . . Forget it . . ."

"So what's the plan?" Dean asked.

"The plan?" Harry was looking around, clearly as bewildered as Rane was. He cleared his throat, then addressed the congregation. "Look, we didn't come back to stay here . . . well, there's something we - Ron, Hermione, and I - need to do, and then we'll get out of here."

Nobody was laughing or whooping anymore. Neville looked confused.

"What d'you mean, 'get out of here'?"

"Look, we're here to find something in the castle," Harry said, sounding strained. "And once we do it. we're not going to stay -"

"Well, what is it?" Neville asked.

There was a pregnant silence. Rane, who was standing some ways behind Harry, Ron and Hermione, glanced around at the faces pointed at him, feeling a pang of sympathy for him.

"I - I can't tell you," Harry told them.

"There was a ripple of muttering at this: Neville's brows contracted.

"Why can't you tell us? It's something to do with fighting You- Know-Who, right?"

"Well, yeah -"

"Then we'll help you."

The other members of Dumbledore's Army were nodding, some enthusiastically, others solemnly/

"You don't understand." Harry seemed to have said that a lot in the last few hours. "We - we can't tell you. We've got to do it - alone."

"But you let her in on it!" someone cried, gesturing at Rane.

"Yeah, well she's an Auror!" Ron retorted, sounding affronted. "She's protection, isn't she?"

"But why?" asked Neville.

Harry was looking around, his mouth working. He turned to Hermione and Ron, who both looked gormless.

"Harry, why can't they help?" Rane asked, stepping forward and touching his shoulder.

"What?" he looked at her, bewildered. "Rane, they'll get themselves killed -!"

"Yeah, well, no more than any of us will," Rane replied. "Listen, if I was still a student and this was happening . . ."

She looked around her at the eager faces watching them.

"They've got as much stake in this as you," she finished at last. "You should let them try."

There was a pause. Rane, Hermione, Ron and Harry were facing one another.

"Rane, they'll be killed," said Hermione, low.

"Not with the right folks around them," Rane replied. She turned to Harry, grasped his wrist. "Listen, whatever you have to do here, you need help. Let me go back and get the Order. We can protect you."

"They couldn't get in!" Ron said.

"Now they can, yeah," Rane replied, her voice steely. "Let me get the rest of them. We can help you."

Harry hesitated. Rane took both of his hands in hers, looking into his eyes fiercely.

"Do you need to destroy something in the castle?" she asked him. She had not mentioned this since they'd asked her to accompany them, but now she did, facing it head-on. "That's what this is? You have to find it, and kill it? Right?"

Harry nodded, his mouth thin. "Yes," he said. "We have to kill it."

"Then let me help you," she repeated, her voice low and harsh. "Please. For Sirius."

Harry nodded. Rane took Harry's face in both her hands and kissed his forehead.

"You be careful," she said. She hesitated, then added, "I love you, kid, don't you cut out on me yet."

Harry nodded, his eyes bright. "I love you too, Rane. I won't."

Rane nodded, stepping back, her eyes fierce.

"I'll be back," she said softly. "You know how to contact me."

"Rane, please don't go," Hermione said, sounding upset. "Please, not now -"

"I'll be back," Rane repeated, and hugged Hermione briefly, tightly. "I'll be back soon." She looked at Harry. "Do what you need to do."

With this, she turned and ran back down the corridor towards the Hog's Head.


	59. Tonks and Lupin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rane visits some old friends.

Rane took the corridor from Hogwarts to the Hog’s Head at a brisk canter, and when she leapt from the portrait, Aberforth turned towards the sound, looking surprised.

“Roth!” he exclaimed. “I thought you were -?”

“I need to get in touch with the Order,” Rane replied distractedly, pulling aside the shades and peering into the Hogsmeade streets. “They’re gonna need help in there, they can’t do it alone.”

“The Order?”

“Yeah, you know, the one that’s all finished now that You-Know-Who's won,” Rane agreed dryly, glancing side-eyed at him.

Aberforth shrugged this off, looking distracted. “And how exactly do you intend to -?”

“Look, can I Disapparate in here?” Rane interrupted him.

Before Aberforth could answer, there was a loud crack and the grim bar was lit up briefly, casting the shadows into sharp contrast. Before Rane had time to react, a trim form had collided with her.

“Rane!”

“Blimey, Ginny, give her some space to breathe,” an amused voice said at her side. Rane staggered back, the wind knocked out of her. Ginny, Fred and George Weasley (the latter sporting an impressive scar where his ear once was) stood before her. Ginny stepped back, grasping Rane's hands and beaming at her, looking impossibly pretty.

“We’ve been worried _stupid_ about you!” Ginny snapped, and with her eyes wide and mouth folded she was for a moment so strikingly like her mother it was almost uncanny. “No one’s heard from you for weeks!”

“I’ve – _ow!”_ Rane rubbed her shoulder ruefully as Ginny punched her. “I’ve been working and hiding from the Ministry, sheesh, keep your pants on . . . Are you guys okay?”

“Honestly, you’d think she was mum, the way she carries on,” said George, rolling his eyes.

“’Course we’re okay, takes a lot more than a lot of prats with tinfoil masks to get rid of us,” Fred agreed. He clapped Rane on the shoulder. “You’re peakier than a dehydrated doxy, mate -"

“I’m better now,” Rane told him honestly, and hugged him and George tightly. She pulled back, gave Fred a disapproving look, and added, “you wanted to call me _Puddle?”_

“Told you she’d be angry,” Ginny said smugly, folding her arms.

“Look, it’s not personal, we were just trying to stick with the theme,” Fred replied, showing her the flats of his hands innocently.

“Right, were you aware your name sounds a bit like a noun?” George added.

“Yeah, but come on, you couldn’t have come up with something a little cooler than -?”

“ALRIGHT, alright!” Aberforth said loudly behind them, waving an arm. “The lot of you, clear off before you get us all thrown into Azkaban!”

“Sorry, Abe,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes. “it’s just that we haven’t got a lot of options at the moment -"

“Never _mind!”_ Abe snapped waspishly. “Get moving, before I change my mind!”

“He’s usually lovely, don’t judge him on this meeting alone,” Fred said as the Weasleys moved towards the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore. 

“What’s your plan, then?” Ginny asked Rane. “You’re not staying with us?”

Rane shook her head. “I’m gonna bring the cavalry when I come back, though.”

“The Order?”

“Yup.”

George nudged Ginny. “You worried?”

Ginny shrugged George off. “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“Well, of course I don't!” George replied. “But that’s sort of the idea, isn’t it?”

“Have you seen Harry?” Ginny asked Rane.

“Like five minutes ago, yeah. Ron’s with them too,” Rane added, and both Fred and George looked relieved.

“Is he -?”

“They’re all fine.”

“Oy!” Abe snapped behind them. “Go on with ye!”

“Y'all just stay safe for a little bit longer,” Rane said, placing a hand on Ginny's shoulder. “We’re gonna be right back. I don’t know what kind of shit we’re looking at, but we’ll be here.”

“Try and hurry, won’t you?” said Fred, looking at Rane.

“George isn’t so great at dueling, as you might have noticed.”

 _“Go,”_ said Rane, nodding towards the portrait. She watched them clamber into the portrait for a moment longer, then turned to Aberforth.

“Best get a move on,” he said, peering out the window once more. “Like as not those gits will be back here to harass me some more before dawn. You be careful, girl,” he added, giving her a stern look. “Dunno what your daddy’d think about all this, but I bet he’d tell ya the same.”

“No doubt,” Rane agreed, lifting her wand. “Be careful, Abe.”

With a loud crack, she vanished, leaving an eddy of dust in her wake within the dim Hog’s Head.

RANE reappeared before a damp streetlight, casting its grim orange light over the pavement. Before her was a cottage, choked in vines and silent. Before the stone-flagged walk was a muggle mailbox, ancient and clearly unused. Dangling from it was a bronze plate, worn with age and filthy, reading “Dubois-Laurent.”

Rane strode past the mailbox and rapped thrice on the door. There was a rustling behind it, and the flicker of a candle’s flame could be seen dancing through the window. The curtain twitched.

“’Oo eez eet?” a raspy voice called.

 _“Esti mellon,”_ Rane replied in a low voice. “Hurry up and open the door, would you? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

There was a series of clicks and clangs as a quantity of locks were slid open, and then the door swung wide to reveal Tonks, wrapped in a shawl and bleary-eyed, her wand drawn. Her hair was down, blonde and curly this evening.

“Well, there’s no doubt it’s you, with a mouth like that,” she remarked, ushering Rane inside.

“Awful French accent,” Rane replied, and embraced her quickly.

“Oh, come off it, like you could do better,” Tonks replied, rolling her eyes.

There was a thundering of approaching footsteps, and suddenly Remus had his wand at Rane's throat in the dim hallway. 

“The last thing Sirius said to you?” he gasped.

“That he promised he’d be careful,” Rane said, her mouth downturned. Hesitating, she added, “he wasn’t, though.”

Remus lowered his wand and hugged Rane. 

“What on earth are you doing out here all alone at this hour?” he asked, giving her a severe look. “You shouldn’t be out this late, you know what the situation is…”

Rane took his hands in the dimly lit corridor. He was clearly tired and confused, but Rane liked the spark in his eyes.

“Harry needs us,” she said softly. “He’s trying to kill him, I think. At Hogwarts.”

Tonks squeaked. “At Hogwarts?”

“You go back to bed!” Remus snapped at Tonks. She recoiled, her eyes narrowed. 

“Who’s the Auror here, then?” she said, her voice uncharacteristically cold. “Which one of us did Mad-Eye hand-train for just this sort of scenario, Remus?”

“That’s hardly -!”

“Y'ALL!”

Remus and Tonks fell silent.

“Harry needs help,” said Rane. She glanced between Tonks and Remus. “Can you guys get someone to watch Teddy? For a little bit? And maybe could you chill out?” She added as Tonks opened her mouth. “Jesus, you guys . . .”

“Mum can watch him,” said Tonks, and when Remus gave her an imperious look, “Remus, mum can watch him.”

Remus sighed loudly. “So be it. Is she awake?”

“I’ll deal with that,” said Tonks, glancing behind her into the dark cottage. “Mum's likely asleep, and so is Teddy, so we can just -"

“Are you sure?” Remus hissed.

“Yes I’m sure!” Tonks replied, frowning. “Just – oh, off with you! Rane, what should we do?”

“We need to get everyone in the Order to Hogwarts,” said Rane.

“What’s -?”

“I don’t know,” Rane interrupted. “But he needs us.”  
Tonks and Remus looked at one another, then at Rane.

“Are you sure -?” Remus began.

“Yes,” said Tonks firmly

“Okay,” said Remus, looking at Rane. “let’s go.”


	60. Dumbledore's Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war soon begins

  
  
  
By the time Remus, Tonks and Rane had returned to the Hog’s Head, the patrol in the Hogsmeade roads had clearly moved on, for reasons Rane didn’t like to speculate on; she could see the bobbing headlights of at least a few of them heading towards Hogwarts proper. The three of them almost could have walked through the door with wands sheathed and hoods lowered.

“Blimey, you too?” Aberforth said roughly as Tonks pressed the heavy wooden door shut behind them. Rane thought he looked frightened, despite his tone. “How many are you? Just the three?”

“Yeah, just us,” Rane replied. “What’s wrong?” she added, her brow furrowed. “You look scared shitless, Abe --"

“And you ought to be too, girl,” he replied. “Didn’t see any outside, did ye? They’ve all gone up to the castle, and I heard a couple of ‘em say someone had summoned You-Know-Who!”

“ _Fuck_!” Rane muttered, stamping one boot. “Harry’s up there, someone must have seen him.”

“Could be a part of his plan,” Remus said, but he, too, looked worried.

“Well, nothing to be done about it now,” Abe said, shaking his head. He was rummaging beneath the bar, and after a moment pulled out a satchel containing some sort of foul smelling powder as well as a bag full of Dungbombs. “What’s done is done and can’t be undone now. You’ve got a flock inside waiting for you – some Order folks, some young enough to still be students – and I called your father,” Abe added, nodding to Rane.

As if evoked by his name alone, there was a loud crack and Wade Roth appeared before them, pulling off his hood.

“What’s all this about You-Know-Who and Harry Potter, now?” he said, looking around at the four of them. “I can’t even remember the last night I slept a full eight -"

“Harry’s got a job to do,” Tonks told him. Her hair had, Rane noted, changed back to its usual spiky pink. Perhaps the excitement had bolstered her mood a bit. “We’ve got to try and hold them off.”

“And from the looks of it, we haven’t much time,” Remus agreed, grasping Tonks's hand tightly. “Something is drawing them away from Hogsmeade and I can think of no better reason than Harry being seen. He could already be in danger.”

“What are four of us supposed to do?” asked Wade. His voice was faintly derisive, but Rane was pleased to note that his hand had gripped the helm of his sword nonetheless. “There’s a score of them –“

“You’ll have help,” said Abe. He was peering around the curtain, one hand grasping his wand tightly. “I think it’s time all of you got a move on.” 

THE Room of Requirement had become utterly packed while Rane had gone to fetch Remus and Tonks. She recognized some of the faces – Fred, George, Ginny, Dean – but there were many she didn’t. Among the newly appeared were Molly and Arthur Weasley, Bill, Fleur and Kingsley.

“How did you know to come?” she asked Kingsley blankly. “We didn’t send for you!”

“The DA have their ways of getting hold of us,” Bill replied.

“Well, I’m happy to see the three of you,” Arthur said, clapping Remus on the shoulder. “When Fred couldn’t reach you, we feared the worst -"

“Correction, _mum_ feared the worst,” George said pointedly.

“Yeah, don’t lump us in with her, we know they can hold their own,” Fred agreed somberly.

Molly clearly wasn’t listening. She was in a heated debate with Ginny, whose face was bright red. Both looked on the verge of tears.

“You’re underage!” Molly shouted at her daughter. “I won’t permit it! The boys, yes, but you, you’ve got to go home!”

“I won’t!”

Ginny’s hair flew as she pulled her arm out of her mother’s grip.

“I’m in Dumbledore’s Army -!”

“A teenagers’ gang!”

“A teenagers’ gang that’s about to take him on, which no one else has dared to do!” Ginny shouted.

“Mum, listen -" George began, but Molly rounded on him, her eyes sparkling.

“She’s sixteen!” shouted Molly. “She’s not old enough! And what _you_ two were thinking, bringing her with you -!”

Fred and George exchanged a glance.

“Mum’s right, Ginny,” said Bill gently. “You can’t do this. Everyone underage will have to leave, it’s only right.”

“I can’t go home!” Ginny shouted, angry tears sparkling in her eyes. “My whole family’s here, I can’t stand waiting there alone and not knowing . . . !”

She looked around her desperately for succor.

“Listen , Molly, how about she stays in here,” Rane suggested cautiously.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Remus agreed quickly. “Then at least she’ll be on the scene and know what’s going on, but she won’t be in the middle of the fighting, if something happens inside Hogwarts.”

Molly looked mutinous. “I -"

“That’s a good idea,” said Arthur firmly. “Ginny, you stay in this room, you hear me?”

Ginny did not seem particularly pleased by this idea, but before she could argue further the door to the Room of Requirement banged open and Harry and Luna barged inside. Rane saw Harry falter, his eyes widening behind his glasses, as he clapped eyes on the enormous crowd that had gathered there.

“Harry, what’s happening?” said Remus as he and Rane met him at the foot of the stairs.

“Voldemort’s on his way, they’re barricading the school, Snape’s run for it - what ‘s everyone doing here? How did you know?” he stared at Rane. “Did you -?”

“It was your DA,” Rane told him, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Can’t blame me for everything. Snape took off? Did he try to fight you?”

“Not me, Professor McGonagall,” Harry replied, shaking his head.

“She was quite brilliant,” Luna put in.

“Is she okay?” Tonks asked him.

Harry nodded, his glasses flashing. “Everyone’s okay, yeah, except the Carrows – I’ll explain later,” he said as Rane opened her mouth.

“Where’a Minerva?” Wade asked. He had approached Rane and Harry, and Rane was pleased to see that his sword hung unsheathed at his side. Several of the DA members were eyeing it interestedly. “Why didn’t she come down with you?”

“The Heads of houses are getting the students out of bed,” Harry said.

“What first, Harry?” called George. “What’s going on?”

“They’re evacuating the younger kids and everyone’s meeting in the Great Hall to get organized,” Harry said. “We’re fighting.”

The roar of cheering and applause that echoed the Room of Requirement at these words was loud and fearsome. Rane felt a grin playing about her face. Perhaps it was the sound of so many who were ready to fight for Hogwarts and for Harry, but she felt a deep and furious hope bloom within her. Maybe they could do this. Maybe they could, at that.

There was a rush as the bulk of the Room's occupants made for the exit, wands drawn, to head for the Great Hall. Rane was buffeted about as they stampeded by, and to her surprise she heard Wade laughing. His eyes were alight, as hopeful as Rane felt.

“You got quite the fan club,” he told Harry.

“Where’s Ron?” asked Harry. “Where’s Hermione?”

“They must have gone up to the Great Hall already,” Arthur called over his shoulder.

“Did you see them?” Harry asked Rane.

Rane shook her head. “No, but there are a lot of people in here."

Harry looked uncertain, but Remus brushed past him, looking around pointedly.

“We should get going,” he said. Tonks moved to his side and grasped his hand, her wand clenched in the other.

“Well, go on, then, Moony, you’re blocking us in,” Wade snapped, giving Remus a good natured push.

“It’s time, kiddo,” Rane said, squeezing Harry’s wrist and giving him a wan smile. “Let’s go kick some ass.”

Harry looked pained. “Listen, Rane -"

“Don’t,” said Rane quickly, holding up a hand. “No bad mojo.”

They regarded one another for one last moment, the unspoken words hanging pregnantly between them. Rane felt the same urge; she wanted to tell him she loved him, that if something were to happen to one of them, all the rest. But she bit them back; it felt almost superstitious, perhaps a touch of her Elven blood making itself known, but she felt that to let words like those pass either of their lips would do them no favors.

“Right,” Harry said at last, nodding in a decided way. “Let’s go.”

Together they set off for the Great Hall 


	61. At the Gates of Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order arranges as Harry seeks the Horcrux within Hogwarts

The Great Hall was crowded when Rane arrived, side by side with Harry and Wade. The four house tables were full of students of all ages, some of them still in their bedthings, many in travelling cloaks. The din of their confused and frightened voices was loud, and growing louder as the many members of the DA – many Rane suspected hadn’t been sighted by their fellows since they’d been driven out by the recent regime – rejoined them. Rane heard Neville's name in particular being shouted at the Gryffindor table, and the man himself was surrounded by his ecstatic peers. At the fore of the Great Hall, the Hogwarts professors were gathered together with Kingsley, Remus and Tonks.

“Rane! Wade!” Kingsley was up ahead, gesturing to them.

Rane and Wade strode toward them. Minerva caught sight of them and grasped at her collar.

“Oh, to see both of you in the same room for a change,” she remarked, shaking her head. “I’m so glad you’re safe!”

“I should say the same,” said Wade, taking one of her hands in both of his. “Harry says you gave Severus the ol' one-two before we got here.”

“It was a long time coming,” Minerva replied with aplomb. “If we are fortunate he shall stay away. He is certainly no longer welcome.”

“I should think not,” Rane remarked. “Harry said the Carrows were -?”

“Harry made quick work of Alecto,” Minerva assured her, smirking. “She and her brother shan’t be troubling us for some time, I daresay. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the students. We haven’t much time.”

Turning, she began to address the student body, her voice echoing quite well without the aid of magic.

“What’s the plan?” Rane asked, glancing between the Order members. “Do we have one?”

“I may have something,” said Kingsley, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “After Minerva has directed the student body, I’ll elaborate.”

“Let’s hope it’s good,” Bill said, looking uneasily around him. “I’ve got a bad feeling -"

“No bad mojo!” Wade and Rane said together.

“Seriously,” said Wade, raising a hand. “I know our Elf stuff seems weird, but for the love of all that’s holy, don’t say it out loud.”

“Seconded,” Rane agreed.

“Where’s Professor Snape?” a girl from the crowd behind them shouted stridently, breaking into their conversation.

“He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk,” Minerva replied dryly, and a massive cheer erupted from the student body. Rane couldn’t suppress her grin.

“If it’s true that he’s on his way, I think we should split up,” Rane said, glancing around.

“No!” said Remus, looking sidelong at Tonks.

“Yeah, we need to stick together,” Wade replied.

“Fine, then we need to split up in groups,” Rane conceded. “There are towers, where we can see the grounds -"

“I agree,” said Kingsley quickly.

“ – And if they’re really on the way up here from Hogsmeade, they’ll hit the grounds first, “ Rane went on. “We’d have a chance to stave them off before they ever get inside-"

“You’re forgetting the secret entrances,” said Remus, shaking his head. “Aberforth said they’re all being watched -"

“Exactly, and when Voldemort calls for his buddies, they’ll be wide open -"

Wade’s words were cut cleanly off as a sudden, cold, high-pitched voice spoke, so loudly and clearly that Rane spun around, her hair whirling, expecting to see someone right behind her. But there was nothing there, and quickly she realized that the voice she was hearing was inside of her head.

The rest of the Great Hall, too, had gone still and pallidly silent, listening with fearful expressions

“I know that you are preparing to fight.”

There were screams amongst the students, some of whom clutched each other, looking around in terror for the source of the sound.

“Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.”

There was silence in the Hall now, thick and potent, broken only by the flickering flames of the candles that floated above them and the harsh, uneven breath of the students themselves.

“Give me Harry Potter,” said Voldemort’s voice, “and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight.”

THE silence that permeated the Great Hall was enormous. Like Rane, it seemed that most of its occupants were absorbing the reality of what had just happened. Rane had never had occasion to hear Voldemort’s voice before, and it shook her to her very core; it sounded nothing like what she’d expected. And the way he’d done that, just now, put his words right into their heads . . . She had never even known Elves to –

“But he’s there!” a voice suddenly rang out. “Potter’s there, he’s right there! Somebody grab him!”

Rane picked out the speaker – a blond snub-nosed girl in the back row of the Slytherin table – but before she could make a move, the whole of the Gryffindor table had risen, forming a protective circle around Harry. A moment later the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables joined them, all of them drawing wands from pockets or sleeves. Their answer to her plea was quite clear.

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson,” said Minerva in a clipped voice. “You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your House could follow.”

There was a scuffle as Argus Filch – who, Rane noted, looked as miserly and cross as he had when she was a teenager – ushered the Slytherins out of the Great Hall.

“Ravenclaws, follow on!” Minerva cried, and the Ravenclaw table followed suit. Rane had not heard the directions Minerva had given them, but she could guess well enough; the youngest among them were being ushered to safety, while the students who were of age had been given the opportunity to stay and fight. And a great many did; the same rang true for the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.

Kingsley had taken the podium and presently spoke in an echoing voice.

“We’ve only got half an hour until midnight, so we need to act fast! A battle plan has been posited between the teachers of Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix. Professors Flitwick, Sprout, And McGonagall are going to take groups of fighters up to the three highest towers - Ravenclaw, Astronomy, and Gryffindor - where they’ll have a good overview, excellent positions from which to work spells. Meanwhile Remus” - he indicated Remus - “Arthur” - he pointed toward Arthur, sitting at the Gryffindor table - “Wade” - he pointed towards Wade, who stood with a hand on his sword - “And I will take groups into the grounds. We’ll need somebody to organize defense of the entrances of the passageways into the school -"

“Sounds like a job for us,” called Fred, indicating himself and George, and Kingsley nodded his approval.

“All right, leaders up here and we’ll divide up the troops!”

Rane strode to Harry before joining the rest of the Order. He was staring into the crowd, his eyes distant.

“Harry,” she said sharply, “it’s time! _Go_ , do what you need to do.”

Harry started, staring at her. “What? Oh -"

“Go! And be safe!” said Rane. She hesitated, then kissed his temple swiftly. “ _Be safe_ , goddamit, or I’ll kill you myself. ‘Kay?”

Harry nodded, then turning sprinted out of the Great Hall, weaving through the existing students. Rane watched him until he was out of sight, her lips pursed.

“Rane!” said Tonks sharply, beckoning her.

Rane turned reluctantly and joined the circle of Hogwarts professors and Order members at the fore of the Great Hall.

“Fred and George have the secret passages,” said Wade, nodding to the twins, who both nodded back, “and Minerva and Filius have the towers. Who’ll go with them?”

“We will bring fighters from our houses,” Filius said in his squeaky voice. “I believe the grounds will be where support will be most needed.”

“Agreed,” said Remus. “The Death Eaters will start at the castle’s entrance. We would do well to guard it.”

“Dad, what about Iliwynn?” Rane said, glancing at her father.

Wade shook his head. “It’s too late,” he said simply. “By the time they got here we'd be sacked. If I’d known how bad it was . . .”

“We’ll go to the grounds, then,” said Rane. Her voice was low and growling. “If they want a fight, we’ll give them one.”

“So be it,” said Kingsley in his booming voice. “Minerva, Filius, best of luck to you both.”

“And to you!” cried Minerva, her eyes alight. “Now go, all of you, go! Make safe the castle!”

Rane, Remus, Tonks, Kingsley, Wade and Bill made for the grounds in a loose cluster, all with wands drawn. Rane had her grandfather’s kukri in her spare hand and as she followed along the Hogwarts corridors, she found herself taking in the feel of the castle. It was tense, almost thrumming, like a plucked guitar string. She could feel it in her bones as a kind of gentle hum, something like the resonance of a closely passing train. Things were ramping up; the match was drawn, and soon it would be struck alight. The places along the hallways where the empty sets of armor had stood for decades beyond count were now vacant, and further on, toward the perimeter of the castle, the clanking and clanging of those erstwhile warriors could be heard, preparing for battle.

“She did _piertotum locomotor_ ,” Wade said as if to himself, clearly thinking along the same lines. “That’s how you know it’s serious. Christ.”

“We already knew it was serious,” said Rane, but she knew what he meant. It seemed hard to believe that she’d been in bed at Shell Cottage not two hours ago. Things were moving very quickly.

The six of them reached the grounds, which were dark, abandoned, and silent save for the cry of the crickets. They halted, forming a line almost unconsciously, something that Rane had been taught in Auror training and which Tonks and Kingsley surely had been, too.

“Wade,” Tonks said softly, “see anything?”

Wade stood still, peering ahead, very still, the wind teasing his long hair. At length he stepped back

“Seven or eight of them up ahead,” he said. “Say a hundred yards out or so. Coming this way.”

Rane felt, for the first time that evening, a true sense of dread at these words. This was really going to happen . . . They were going to fight an unwinnable battle for Harry, to give him the time he needed. It would end in death for some, she had no doubt; she only hoped the casualties stayed on the opposite side.

“Aurors!” said Kingsley suddenly, and both Tonks and Rane straightened. “We didn’t make it through three years of training for nothing, did we?”

"No," said Tonks.

"We _know_ how to beat Dark wizards, don't we?" said Kingsley. His wand was held high. "That is what we were trained to do, was it not?"

“Yes,” both Tonks and Rane replied. Rane was grinning.

"Tonight you are set on your enemy to hunt," said Kingsley stridently. "We fight now for the Order. For Sirius. For Albus. For Hogwarts. For Harry.”

“For Harry!” Remus echoed. His teeth were bared, and in the dim light he looked very wolflike indeed.

“For Harry!” said Bill, his eyes glistening.

“Set us on with a word,” said Rane, glancing at her father. "Be a _maethor_ like you ought to."

Wade touched his forehead and then his chest with his wand hand, letting it trail off into the cool air in his typical fashion. In the low light, blue eyes glittering beneath his brows and shoulders broad and squared, he had never looked more like a _maethor_ , brutal and battle-hardened. In a low, growling voice, he said, “Grant death to our enemies, Iluvatar, and bring us victory. See our lands are defended and our blades find their marks. We deal death to those who would harm our friends, and Iluvatar is with us tonight. Elbereth, guide our swords, may we neither falter nor fall. _Tiro ven Elbereth! Gurth enin goth, sì tiro, sì ath thûr_!”

“SÌ ATH THÛR!” Rane screamed, and there was a clang and a brilliant flash of silver as both she and Wade drew their swords. The firelight danced on their edges, and in Rane's eyes as she stared off into the darkness, her teeth bared in a foxlike grin. "TIRO VEN ELBERETH, SÌ ATH THÛR!"

Though they did not speak Elvish, and did not know what the words meant, Tonks, Remus, Kingsley and Bill all took up the chant nonetheless. Aurors, Elves and wizards, they stood together at the gates of Hogwarts, wands and swords held at the ready as the Death Eaters strode slowly nearer in the darkness.

“SÌ ATH THÛR! SÌ ATH THÛR!”


	62. The Battle of Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight begins

Rane and her companions stood at the gates of Hogwarts, silent, waiting for the sounds of footsteps.

Eventually it came: the clacking of bootheels on stone, the swishing of cloaks. Rane stood where she was, at her father's side, sword and wand drawn. The rough sound of harsh breathing was audible on her left, the creak of Elven leather on her right. Overhead, the sky was dark and star-spattered. The hooting of the owls in the Owlery could be just heard over the whistling wind. Dead leaves rolled past their boots, the scrape of their passing loud in the tense silence.

" _Lumos maxima_!" said Bill, and the grounds before them lit up in a sudden glow of white.

The grounds before them were lit up as if beneath sunlight. Before them were the enemy, a line of Death Eaters, all of them clad in masks that reflected the cool light of the stars. Their footsteps were loud in the quiet.

"What have we here?" a cold voice cried mockingly. "A couple of washed up Aurors and a werewolf? What a sight, eh, Dolohov?"

"What a sight," a burly figure replied, his voice low and gravelly.

"Rane," said Wade quietly, "if you ever wanted to try it out, tonight's the night."

Rane remained where she was, still, her sword and wand trained on the approaching Death Eaters. She knew what he meant, but it was -

"CRUCIO!" one of the masked figures shouted, and Kingsley waved it off, his face pitted in the sudden red light.

"AVADRA KEDAVRA!" another voice shouted, and Bill dove out of the way. The stone behind him smoked, charred.

RANE!" Wade roared.

Rane turned to him, her eyes wild. "I can't just _call_ on it -!"

"YES YOU CAN!" Wade bellowed. He swung his sword wide, and a bright yellow spell soared off into the night, whistling. "DAMMIT, GIRL, USE IT!"

Rane swung her sword, deflecting another spell with a clang, but a glance to the left told her enough; the fight was on. Tonks, Remus and Bill were all dueling Death Eaters. The flashes of spells were bright, sending the dim grounds into sharp resolution.

" _RANE_!"

Rane pulled her sword to her, taking a step back. It was weird, summoning it . . . like trying to catch smoke . . . it was a strange, cold sensation, at the very bottom of her brain. It felt like a hook . . . and if she pulled it toward her . . .

 _Varda_.

Rane had no idea why that name had occurred to her, but the effect was instantaneous. She felt a strength so intense it was almost dizzying flow into her, like a dam suddenly released. It poured into her, filling her nerves, her limbs, her digits. It was intoxicating, heady, a strength that felt white and holy and absolutely, mirthlessly mad.

She straightened, sheathed her sword and stepped towards the advancing Death Eaters.

"Varda!" she said aloud, and her eyes were now glowing bright blue, casting her face into sharp resolution. The air around her began to shimmer, as if from a great heat. From the tips of her fingers, tendrils of blue-white light danced, faint in the night air. She could feel the power within her, like a pulsing white-hot mass, and for the first time it was within her hands, hers to control, to direct, like a wild horse that suddenly decides to acquiesce . . .

Tonk, Remus, Bill and Kingsley were all slowing, their wands faltering, turning their eyes on Rane.

"What's she doing?" asked Kingsley quietly. "What's she doing with that light?"

"Blimey, she's going," said Tonks roughly, shoving Remus towards the left. " _Move_ , you lot, _move_ , give her some room -!"

"But it's like in Ylle Thalas," Remus said faintly as Tonks pushed him away. "It's just like in Ylle Thalas when she -"

"MOVE!" Wade shouted, herding Kingsley towards them. He and Tonks were pushing Bill and Remus away as they stared at Rane in abject fascination. " _MOVE_ , DAMMIT, DO YOU WANT TO GET BARBECUED?!"

The Death Eaters had faltered, staring at Rane in bewilderment. She was glowing now, dim bluish-white, and her eyes were pinned on them. There was a cloud of dust at her feet. The hum of her energy was around them all, bone deep. Her dark hair clouded around her face, slow and sultry.

"SHOOT HER!" one of the Death Eaters shouted. A flurry of spells sped towards her, but they flew away into the night before they'd hit their mark. The sound was like a pebble on glass.

" _Glenn'bo_ ," said Rane, and she raised a hand toward the Death Eaters almost lazily. They were knocked flat on their backs, their wands clattering from their hands, their cloaks tangling over their heads. One of them did a somersault, landed against a tree hard and did not move.

Tonks, Remus, Bill and Kingsley cheered harshly at this, their faces rapt in the blue light. Tonks's teeth were bared.

"MUDBLOOD!" one of the Death Eaters shouted as he scrambled to his feet. His mask was still in place, but his eyes, wild with fear and revulsion, were bright in the starlight. "FILTHY- ELF - MUDBLOOD!"

Rane turned her gaze towards him, and even as he faltered, flailing backwards and crabwalking towards the Forbidden Forest, Rane reached out her hand towards him, her footsteps slow and steady.

"YOU FILTHY HALF-ELF MUDBL -!"

Rane flicked her hand gently towards him. He exploded in a silent flash of cinders and ash, leaving a black mark on the castle grounds. His mask, heat-warped and half-disintegrated, hit the earth with a declamatory clang before the other Death Eaters, smoldering red in the dirt. Bits of his cloak trailed down to the ground, smoking.

The other Death Eaters, their faces long with terror, shrieked and turning ran towards the woods. Rane watched them go, her eyes slowly fading back to hazel.

"Blimey," said Kingsley, staring at her slack-jawed.

"Never did that before," Rane remarked, panting. She glanced at Tonks and Remus, then coughed hoarsely. "Ugh. That was really gross."

"Super gross," Tonks agreed, but she was grinning. "Coulda fooled 'em all thinking they got it easy with a couple wee women, eh?"

Rane laughed shakily. Bill was staring at the pile of slowly settling ash that had been a Death Eater moments before, shaking his head and grinning a little wildly.

"That was good," Wade said, grasping her shoulder. His face was pale, but he was smiling. "Try doing it again when they come back."

"Dad, I controlled it," Rane gasped at him, staring at him with wild eyes. "Did you see? I controlled it? It did what I said, I -!"

"Yeah, I saw," said Wade, shaking his head. "I saw. Now you got it in your hand, you turn it out on them and help us protect these kids. Howbout it?"

"I'll try," said Rane, knowing that it would take almost no effort to recreate the power now that it had been tested. More, she _wanted_ it. "Let's go the opposite way, huh? Closer to Hagrid's?"

"And let's take the path through the castle," Bill agreed. "I can hear -"

He was interrupted by a massive, trembling groan, as if many great stones were rubbing against one another.

"Come on," said Wade. "They won't dare come back this way for a while."

THE castle corridors were swamped with students - though Rane didn't know if they were out of their own accords or heading to the Room of Requirement where they could be ushered to safety.

"I thought Minerva was trying to get them out of Hogwarts?" Rane remarked as they strode through the crowds.

"Would _you_ have listened to your head of house in this situation?" Remus asked, shooting an amused glance backwards at her.

Rane shrugged, grinning. "Touché."

"I didn't think -"

Bill was interrupted by a massive crash. The corridor they had been travelling down had suddenly collapsed, sending bricks and mortar everywhere. Rane was knocked flat on her back, coughing in the sudden dust.

"Dad!" she gasped. "Remus -!"

She felt a hand grasp hers, and she was yanked out of the rubble, coughing. Wade stood before her, covered in dust.

"You okay?"

"Fine," Rane spluttered, "what was that -?"

"GET DOWN!" a familiar voice shouted, and Rane and Wade both ducked. A series of red and silver spells flew over their heads, striking the far wall with a ound like breaking glass.

"Harry!" Rane shouted, and a moment later she had found his face. Harry grasped her wrists, and Rane could see her own reflection in his crooked glasses.

"What are you doing here?"

Harry's mouth was downturned, and frowning Rane peered around his shoulder. Ron and Hermione were with him, both filthy and wet, and Ron was straining against Hermione's tight grasp. She was screaming at him, her eyes bright.

"Listen to me - LISTEN, RON -!"

"Who was it?" Rane breathed.

"Fred," said Harry softly.

Rane felt a gentle swoop of cold in her stomach. She continued to stare at Harry.

" _Fuck_ ," she said. She took a breath, steadying herself, pressing back the shock and horror that wanted to overtake her. "Did you do it, Harry? Did you kill it?"

"I'm-" Harry scrubbed at his eyes beneath his glasses with the heels of his hands. "There's another one. One more."

"Rane, come on!" Wade shouted from behind her. The sounds of a fight were very near. The clanging of curses came to them, loud and vital.

"Then go finish it," she said..She looked over at Ron, who was still straining against Hermione's clutches, his red eyes narrowed and his mouth downturned. "Finish it, for fuck's sake, Harry."

Harry stared into her eyes a moment longer, then turned and fled, Hermione and Ron at his heels.


	63. A Hiatus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war pauses

After Harry vanished, things got weird

Rane had seen many battles, and this was something she was familiar with. The series of events that had so neatly lined up in her mind became erratic, spontaneous. Her narrative of the events that followed grew arbitrary, a churning havoc of turmoil and horror without plot or purpose. It became -

\- a Death Eater with a badly bleeding wrist staggered toward Rane and Tonks. Remus blasted him off his feet and he flew backwards and landed against a suit of armor, which stamped onto his head.

\- a girl in Hufflepuff colors ran past Rane, shrieking. A spell struck her as she passed the Great Hall corridor and she burst into ashes.

\- Percy Weasley, who Rane recognized from his visit to the Burrow before the Ministry's fall, rushed past them, shoving Kingsley roughly out of the way, shouting the name of Fred's killer, Rookwood, his thin face transported with fury.

\- Wade dodged a killing curse by a hair's breadth, his blond hair whirling, and turning cast his own on his assailaint. The Death Eater fell down dead, his wand tumbling from his hand and vanishing into the fray.

\- Rane felt the gentle whish of a hex pass her head, and spinning around lifted her sword at the next curse, which rebounded on its caster - a pale woman who Rane did not recognize - who then fell backwards and out of sight off the stairwell, screaming.

\- a boy no older than 13 falling dead beneath the wand of a cackling man beneath a mask.

\- Fenrir Greyback, pouncing upon a girl who had fallen from the collapsing second floor, snarling -

"CRUCIO!" Rane screamed, and when her spell missed, striking the nearby wall with a high-pitched sound, she raised her sword and plunged it into Greyback's beefy chest as he lunged towards her. Blood spurted in a shocking rivet, and his outraged eyes found Rane's as he collapsed. Rane fell back against his weight, shoving him off her, and over his hairy shoulder she could see the bloodied form of the girl he had been attacking. She stirred gently and then fell still, her small hand relaxing.

"FUCK!" Rane screamed, shoving Fenrir off of her, her eyes filling with tears. She got to her feet, then suddenly struck at Fenrir's form with her sword again, her face red. "FUCK! _FUCK_!"

"Rane!" Remus said sharply, and with his free hand yanked her to her feet. He touched her cheek gently. "Enough. We haven't finished y -"

"AVADRA KEDAVRA!"

The wry smile on Remus's face had not yet faded from his face as he looked at Rane. The light in his eyes faded, and he did not fall but crumpled, his legs folding beneath him. The wand tumbled from his hand.

"NO! _REMUS_!"

The voice was coming from Tonks, but Rane had never heard her scream so. The sound of her footsteps came to Rane from behind, quick, and the sound of her breath, harsh and fast. And then -

"TONKS!"

That was Kingsley, but Rane didn't need to look around; the sound of a tumbling body, light and loose, was enough. Someone was laughing.

"JESUS CHRIST!" Wade shouted, and then his hand was on Rane, rough and squeezing. "Oh Christ - Rane - oh God, they got 'em, they got 'em both -!"

"No, no, no," Rane heard herself saying plaintively, even as Wade was jerking her away toward cover. All around them, red and green bolts were flying. "No, no, no - !"

"Rane!" Wade shouted, and then, when Rane continued to stare at the collapsed forms of Remus and Tonks, the latter's hair hectically pink in the dim, he shook her hard, making her dark hair fly. "RANE! _LOOK_ at me!

Rane did not. She could not tear her eyes away from her dead friends. Wade slapped her hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. She stared at him in shock.

"They're _dead_!" Wade shouted at her. His eyes were streaming and his mouth was downturned. "You hear me? We gotta get inside! They're _dead_!"

Rane gaped at him.

"Harry!" Wade said, and she could see his eyes trying to cut toward Remus, who had been his friend since before she was born. "We gotta help Harry!"

Rane got up with him. She forced her gaze to remain on her father, who was bleeding and sweaty and weeping but glaring at her with a steel she wished she could adopt. She could feel her lower lip trembling.

"Girl, you be tough for him," Wade whispered, and smoothed the hair from her forehead the way he had done when she was just a girl. "You be tough for him, now, you remember who you are."

_Remember the face of your father_ , a voice spoke within Rane, unprompted. _Remember the face of your father for us all._

" _Varda_ ," she said, her voice choked.

"What?"

But at that moment, her own voice became unimportant.

“You have fought,” said the high, cold voice, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.

"Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. “You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted

your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me.

"One hour.”

The voice was high, cold and within them all. The silence that fell within the castle was immediate and intense. Rane and Wade looked at one another, silent.

After a moment, Wade said, "where is he?"

Rane shook her head. Wade sighed deeply.

"Well, then, til he turns up," he said heavily, "help me get them inside."

Rane needed no further instructions. They filed out, side by side, as the remaining Death Eaters retreates, their cloaks whirling behind them in the gloom.

Remus was nearest. Wade lifted him by himself. His limpness and the slack-jawed stare he bore for the greater world, his eyes still and bright, brought Rane to tears again as she watched. His hands dangled. Wade bent and grasped his wand.

"Not yet," Wade said, though his eyes were bright. "Get her. Get Dora."

Rane did. She was light in death. Her lean form seemed weightless. Together they filed into the Great Hall, where the rest of Hogwarts's defenders were gathering their injured and dead, unbidden but united.

FRED'S body lay at the fore of the hall, though who brought him Rane didn't know. The Weasleys crowded around him. Molly had thrown herself across his chest and was weeping, her shoulders heaving. Behind her, Arthur clutched her shoulders, his own eyes streaming. Ginny and George were crouched by his head, clutching one another, crying together. As Rane watched, Ron strode to them and knelt by his mother. She threw an arm around him and pulled him close, as if by instinct.

Rane and Wade lay Remus and Tonks side by side. They were not the only dead; the Great Hall was full of them. Children, men and women. House Elves. A centaur lay injured in the corner, his flank pouring blood.

Rane knelt at Remus's side and grasped his hand, which was already stiffening. She touched his hand to her forehead, tears falling from her eyes gently.

" _Hiro hyn hidb ab'wanath_ ," she said softly.

A hand touched her shoulder. She turned, expecting Wade, but Harry stood there. He knelt beside her. He was bloody, his green eyes bright behind his glasses.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you're safe," Rane whispered, and pulled him into a tight hug.

"Professor Lupin," Harry said softly at her shoulder. "Tonks . . . "

"Not your fault," Rane said gently, but Harry stiffened against her and pulled back.

"Rane, I -"

"You don't even fucking think about it," Rane said, soft but fierce. "Don't you even go there."

Harry looked at her silently.

"Thank you for -" He struggled. "Thank you, Rane. For -"

"For what? For loving you?"

Harry looked at her silently. Rane pulled him to her again.

"Shut up, Harry," she said. The tears were spilling from her eyes, but she was glad for him. "You're mine. So just shut up."

She felt Harry's shoulders convulse and she held him tighter. Then he pulled away from her.

"Say goodbye," he said. He gestured to Remus and Tonks, though he seemed unable to look at him. "There's something I . . . I'll be going."

Rane watched him walk away silently for a moment. Then she called him.

"Harry!"

He turned, looking at her knelt there, lean and beautiful and filthy, all long hair and tears in the dusty Hall, between her two dead friends. Her sword lay glittering on the floor at her side.

"Come back," she said.

He met her eyes one last time, then turned and strode away.


	64. The Boy Who Lived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry returns

After Harry left, Rane remained between Remus and Tonks, silent. Though she glanced at them sporadically, mostly she just held their hands.

It was weird, thinking about them being dead. Half an hour ago, they had been very much alive, hard-faced and fighting. Rane, cross-legged, her white top stained now with blood, was thinking about the times they had been together. She felt . . . strange. Disassociated. As if she was a balloon tethered to her body, floating above all of this lunacy and observing it with the objective hemming and hawing of a scientist. That she knew and loved these people was a fact, of course; that they'd both been killed was also a fact, and that their cooling bodies had been placed here, empty and cold, devoid of the essential soul and life that had made them _them_ ; that, too, was a fact. Now, what was Rane supposed to do with this information? It seemed reasonable to process it, to make herself see what was happening properly, but her mind would not, could not do that.

Tonks. She'd been with Rane when Idril was born. They'd shared beers at headquarters, side by side, arms slung around one another. They'd giggled when Molly teased Remus and Sirius. She'd shared a cot with Rane when they'd been Auror initiates, snickering at Scrimgeour's admonishments.

And Remus? Remus had been with her when she'd taken the pregnancy test that had heralded Idril. He had held her in the night while Rane mourned Sirius, drunk. He had smoothed her hair back not thirty minutes ago and said, _We aren't done yet._

These and a hundred other memories. Rane sat between them, grasping their cool hands in her own, her face lowered, looking at her boots and at the blood-spattered Hogwarts floor. Tonks and Remus couldn't be gone. And any moment one of them would come sauntering through the door, beat up but well. Except they wouldn't. Not now.

Rane lowered her head and began to sob, her shoulders heaving. Her stomach hurt.

"Rane?"

Rane looked up. It was Hermione, knelt before her, her face bloodied. The expression on her face was strained.

"Are you alright?"

Rane shook her head. Hermione reached out and hugged her.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly.

"They were just so young," Rane whispered, and to her dismay she felt herself fully prepared to lose herself in the arms of a girl nearly ten years her junior. "Just so damn young. So young. And a little boy. Their little boy. Just a little . . . a luh-little b-b-"

The thought of Teddy, lying in a crib inside the house where Rane had roused them, did her in completely. She dissolved, her shoulders rocking with her sobs.

"Rane, no," Hermione said softly, stroking her back gently. "Don't - please. Look -"

She took Rane's face in her hands, staring at her with her bright brown eyes. Rane returned her gaze reluctantly, flaccid with grief.

" _Polor_ ," said Hermione fiercely. "Isn't that what they say? _Polor_?"

Rane, laboring under the weight of the fate of her friends, nodded, forcing a smile. When had Hermione told her she'd been reading about the Elves? Not even twelve hours ago? Had so much happened since then?

"Yeah. 'Strength.'" She squeezed Hermione's hand, her breath hitching. "Strength. _Polor'este._ Be strong. That's how you say it."

" _Polor'este_ ," said Hermione, and shook Rane gently. In that moment she looked far older than seventeen, despite her streaming eyes. " _Polor'este_. For Professor Lupin and Tonks and Teddy."

They stared at one another for a long moment, both of them filthy and bloodied. Rane got to her feet and helped Hermione to hers. Wade had appeared behind them, staring at the still forms of Remus and Tonks with his brow furrowed and his lower lip trembling, only just. His sword, streaked with blood, hung at his side, its sharp tip grazing the Hall's floor.

"Where's Harry?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. After Snape -"

"Snape?" said Wade sharply. "Snape? Where is he? Is he back?"

Hermione looked at him, her eyes wide. "He's dead now."

Rane could not bring herself to feel shocked at these words - indeed, her capacity for surprise seemed to have been filled tonight - but there was a swoop of cold in her belly nonetheless. He'd been Albus's murderer, and she ought to have felt a great deal more pleased, but after Remus and Tonks . . .

"How?" Rane asked.

Hermione shook her head. "It was Voldemort." She hesitated, looking sick, then added, "his snake. That's what he used."

Wade turned from her, coughing hoarsely, bending over his knees with the back of his hand over his mouth.

"And Harry and Ron are okay?" asked Rane.

Hermione shook her head, glancing askance at the Weasley family. "I don't . . ."

"Go," said Rane gently, nudging her. "Go on. Ron. He needs you."

Hermione turned to Rane once more, her eyes bright. She hugged Rane tightly, and Rane returned it.

"Go on, girl," she said softly as they parted.

"Jesus," Wade was saying, straightening and giving Rane a pallid, shocked look. "I never liked the guy, but what a way to go."

"He would have ended up worse if any of us had caught up to him," Kingsley said, appearing at their sides. He was bleeding from a gash in his forehead and favoring one leg. "The Dementors would never have gotten to - oh, Remus. Oh, _no_."

Spotting Remus and Tonks, he withered somewhat, kneeling before them.

"I thought the Weasley boy was the worst of it," said Kingsley thickly.

Rane suddenly remembered Fred, lying dead only a few feet from them, and the renewed shock of it made her waver alarmingly on her feet.

 _I don't know how much more of this I can take_ , she thought, and on the tail of this, something her father had said to her surfaced: _Elves don't do death well._

"Steady on," Wade said, grasping her shoulder. "You're -"

"What's happening?" said a voice nearby. Rane turned to find Minerva, her robes streaked with filth, staring towards the grounds. "What is it?"

Rane turned her head towards the conglomeration of Hogwarts students that were moving toward the partially destroyed entrance to the Great Hall. They did so almost sluggishly, many of them wounded and limping. The night sky, certainly nearing dawn, was darker than ever beyond them, smatterered with stars and silent. Not even the crickets sang.

Wade was moving with the crowd, and Rane found herself close at his heel, straining to peer over the many heads before her. At first there was nothing except for the gentle stirring of the crowd and the dark forest beyond.

"What is it?" Rane asked Wade, whose eyes were far finer. "Do you see -?"

"Oh, _no_ ," said Wade. The tone of his voice was one of utter horror. "Oh, no, _no_."

WADE had a few inches on Rane, and in the end that was what split them up for the last time; she wanted to see what he was staring at, what _everyone_ was staring at. So she pushed her way roughly through the students and teachers and Order members, to the fore of the throng. And there, in the grayish-purple light of the minutes before dawn, she saw Harry.

Voldemort had brought his legion with him, and they filed behind him, their eyes bright behind their masks. At the fore were his devoted ones - Bellatrix, the Malfoys, others Rane recognized by face but not by name. Before them all, tall and bruised, his red eyes leaking tears steadily into his beard, was Rubeus Hagrid, and in his arms -

Rane, who stood now at the front of the crowd, was motionless, staring at his body. Her breath was quick and low, her fists clenched at her sides.

 _Can't be_ , her mind rattled. _Can't be. No_.

"“Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

This was Voldemort. He was pacing back and forth now before Hagrid, like a cat before its prey. Leering.

“The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.”

He turned to Hagrid and flicked his wand. Hagrid stepped forward, and now there could be no doubt who he held in his arms, limbs askew and glasses hanging awkwardly.

Rane was not the only one - Minerva, Ginny, Hermione, many others did, too - but her voice was the first and the worst. She dropped to her knees, her brows knit, her eyes filling, and screamed Harry's name. Her voice was harsh, keening, and at the end it fell into a sob that wracked her chest like a seizure. The grief enveloped everything, and only in that moment did Rane truly understand, for the first time in her young life, what it was to love someone as her own child.

"HARRY!"


	65. Voldemort

"SILENCE!"

Voldemort continued to pace back and forth, but now his voice, magically magnified, was hard. The screams that had risen at the sight of Harry Potter's body faded away, though there were moans and the sounds of earnest weeping within the crowd. Above, the sky was pregnant with rain, dark and portentous. Thunder rolled overhead.

Rane remained where she had fallen to her knees, her hands splayed on the stone beneath her. The jeans she wore had worn through at each knee, and the white tunic she wore was stained with blood and dirt. Her long dark hair was still caught in a tumbling knot at her neck, and the strands that had broken free wavered before her face now as she stared at Harry, her mouth downturned, her eyes red. Her wand had fallen to the ground with her, and lay glimmering in the low light before her now. The rain, light as a breeze, was pittering around her now, cold against her neck.

'It is over!" Voldemort said, and his wand slashed through the air again, whistling. Hagrid bent, clearly not by his own volition. "Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!"

Hagrid did, his touch horribly gentle, his swollen eyes leaking. Harry's hands rolled limply at his sides, and Voldemort straightened just behind him, his long fingers stroking his wand, still pacing endlessly. The rain, picking up now, ran down Harry's glasses.

"You see?" he called. The grin on his face was broad. "Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

"HE BEAT YOU!" a voice shouted. It was Ron Weasley. And just like that, the crowd was again shouting at Voldemort, screaming Harry's name. A volley of rocks rained down from the back of the throng, clattering before the Death Eaters' feet loudly.

Voldemort waved a hand out before him, and with a loud crack, the voices were silenced again.

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds," Voldemort said stridently. "Killed while trying to save himself -!"

Rane got to her feet, snatching her wand from the ground, and before she knew what she was doing she was twirling it through the air, striding forward.

"IGNIMURUS!" she shouted, and a wall of flame rushed toward Voldemort. He noticed her with plenty of time, waving his wand, and the fire evaporated in a blueish mist, crackling. The Death Eaters, taken by surprise, turned to her, wands rising, and curses shot out towards her. Rane deflected them, pulling her sword in the same fluid motion, and several of them flew away from her, the blade clanging, sending the spells whickering off into the early dawn air.

"YOU DARE?" one of them screamed, eyes wild behind his mask. His wand flew, and Rane again deflected a purplish streak from her, hair flying.

"No, MacNair," said Voldemort, smirking. "Let her come."

Rane's wand flew again, and another plume of fire roared out of its tip, her eyes bright in its reddish-gold light and her lips peeled back into a snarl, but it was no good. Rane was skilled, but she was young, and rage and grief had made her clumsy. Even on her best day, Voldemort's prowess would have outstripped her easily. But still she stepped through the thickening rain, her wand outstretched, her eyes bright.

"CRUCIO!" she shrieked, and her spell evaporated almost as it left her wand. And now, looking faintly amused, turning toward her, Voldemort waved his wand again, and Rane was thrown backwards, landing roughly on her back and feeling the coarse, damp stone grating against her palms, drawing blood in fat beads. Her sword clattered from her hand, sparkling in the low glow of the torchlight that flickered from the Hogwarts windows above.

"A brave and foolish young one," said Voldemort silkily, still training his wand onto her. He cocked his head to one side gently, as if politely curious. "Who might you be?"

Bellatrix Lestrange, who stood at his side, twirling her own wand around her fingers, her eyes glittering beneath her wild hair, snickered, looking delighted.

"It is Rane Roth, my lord," she crowed.

From the back of the crowd, sudden and jarring, Wade Roth's voice erupted, rife with terror.

"RANE! NO, _RANE_ -!"

Rane could see him from the corner of her eye, shoving past those in front of him, positively leaping by, but Voldemort waved his wand again, and with a crack, he was silenced.

"Ah yes," said Voldemort. "The half-human."

Rane had gotten to her knees and was slowly stumbling to her feet, glaring at Voldemort from beneath her brows.

"Those of you who are listening," Voldemort said, his voice now echoing, "should know that, though many blood traitors exist among you, there is none so wretched and revolting as the creature who kneels now before me in the dirt. Sat where she belongs, I suppose."

There was a snickering amongst the Death Eaters. Wade was fighting to get to Rane, his eyes wild and his long hair in his face, but Minerva and Kingsley held him back, their knuckles white as they grasped at his clothes.

"'Mudblood,'" Voldemort went on, still eyeing Rane with a kind of vaguely interested revulsion, the expression of someone who had lifted a rock to clap eyes on the squirming life beneath, "is not the proper term for such a creature as this. Though it is impossible to speculate on the idea of a human and an Elf _mating_ without a good bit of nausea -"

A titter ran through the crowd of Death Eaters behind him.

" - it appears that it must have happened at least once. Much to the chagrin of those of us who value the purity of blood."

"MUDBLOOD!' Bellatrix screamed at Rane, the raindrops pooling at the corners of her eyes. "FILTHY HALF-BLOOD!"

Rane, her hair clinging to her cheeks with rain, caught her eye and said, "Murderer."

"Oh, such a big word for such a small little girl," Bellatrix cried, grinning. She bent at the knee and leaned forward, her eyes on Rane, who knelt glaring at her in the gentle rain.

Eye sparkling, Bellatrix said, "Dogs get put down."

Rane, very still in the rain, said, "I'll kill you for saying that."

Wade, still struggling against Minerva and Kingsley, shouted, "BASTARD!"

Voldemort's wand flew, and Wade was cast back, hair flying. Minerva and Kingsley struggled, but they were thrown to the ground with him. Rane, who had jerked compulsively at the sound of her father's voice, was thrown into the mud again. Bellatrix straightened, looking at Rane with all the interest of a bored housecat.

"A weak one," Voldemort admonished. "But entertaining, is she not?"

A titter ran through the crowd. Rane scrambled ineptly to her feet again and charged, her teeth bared, muddy and wet, her hair clinging to her cheeks, but once again, Voldemort sent her tumbling backwards with the merest flick of his wand. His expression was vaguely amused, that of a cat playing with a grounded bird. Rane landed badly, hissing, her tunic rolling up beneath her. The skin on her belly seared with pain against the rock, warming with blood. Already she was scrambling up, awkward but furious, her eyes alight, fingers slipping against the wet stone. Behind her, Wade was screaming her name again and again.

"YOU F -!"

" _Crucio_!"

Rane fell backward to her left, screaming, the pain alighting her every nerve, curling into herself, every muscle contracting, her face contorted. The crowd behind her seemed to withdraw.

"You see?" Voldemort was crying, sounding highly amused, addressing the crowd before him even as Rane writhed in agony. "This creature, of whom so many fools are so desperately afraid - even _she_ must kneel before Lord V- !"

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" a voice screamed.

And then many things happened very quickly.


	66. Bellatrix Lestrange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A showdown

The Cruciatus curse was lifted, and Rane rolled away as she was taught, but that voice -

And then, on her belly in the rain, she saw him. He stood on the railing of the Hogwarts walk, crouched like a cat, and his clothes were torn and filthy, his glasses were busted to hell, his face was sliced like a chatcuterie, but goddamn if it wasn't her Harry fucking Potter, not dead but lively as you like. Rane, her face lighting up, leaped to her feet, the pain forgotten, furiously happy, not understanding and not needing to. Seeing him moving by his own volition was Christmas morning for years.

"HARRY, YOU ABSOLUTE SHIT!" she shouted accusingly, but she was beaming.

"SORRY!" he called back. "I'LL EXPLAIN LATER!"

"YOU'RE GODDAM RIGHT YOU WILL!"

Amidst the spells that were beginning to shoot to and fro, Rane met his eyes, her grin bloody and wet with rain but gorgeous in the gloom. Harry returned her smile, his wand held aloft in one hand.

The moment between them was broken almost instantly. The Death Eaters had caught sight of Harry almost at the same time Voldemort had (most of them, at least; Rane could hear several of them, clearly bewildered at the sudden abscence of his body, shouting, "where's he at? Where's Potter?" amidst the din).

The crowds on either side of Rane were in tumult now. On the Hogwarts side, the students, professors and Order members had all renewed the assault, and spells were flying. The Death Eaters, having caught sight of Harry, were flinging curses towards him, but he was quick, weaving into the fray and out of sight. Rane's wand was already flying, her sword at her side, sending spells flying through the gathering rain.

"Rane, are you alright?"

This was Ron, who had come to the fore of the fracas. Hermione was at his side, her bushy hair damp, the light of the spells soaring overhead sending her face into sharp contrast. She looked absolutely furious.

"THAT WAS - ABSOLUTELY - COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED -!"

She took a moment from deflecting spells to strike Rane's shoulder angrily. Rane cringed away but took her flogging good-naturedly enough.

"Yeah, what were you thinking?" Ron agreed, glancing at her.

"Well, obviously she _wasnt_!"

"I was a little - _watch it_!" Rane shouted abruptly, and flung her blade before Ron and Hermione. Two bright yellow curses flew away from them with a twang. Panting slightly, she finished, "I was a little bit upset, sorry, I might have overreacted -"

"Well, Harry seemed to take it alright," Ron said, sounding fiercely vindicated. "Fred would've given him a standing ovation for that performance -"

"I thought he was a goner for s -!"

Rane was cut off as a volley of arrows, their shafts whistling through the air, came flying out of the forest. There were cries of pain and surprise amongst the Death Eaters, and then in a great mass of hoof beats a herd of centaurs came galloping from the dark, bows drawn.

"Hermione, _watch out_!" Ron bellowed.

Hermione ducked, and a bright green bolt flew over her head. Rane caught it on her blade and sent it soaring into the night sky. Some ways off, she could hear the clanging of Wade's sword as he did the same.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" a harsh voice crowed again, and Rane caught the spell by the tip of her sword, stumbling. The force of it had been terrific.

"Careful!" a chiding voice taunted. "Wouldnt want to ruin that pretty face!"

Rane turned, straightening. Bellatrix Lestrange stood there, her wand still extended, grinning in the rain.

"You guys get on back," Rane said softly, not looking at her companions. Ron had stepped in front of Hermione, his wand extended protectively.

"Oh, Rane, _don't_ -!"

"Go on," Rane repeated, her voice harsh, still keeping her eyes locked on Bellatrix. Ron and Hermione cast a frightened look over Rane's shoulder and turning fled back toward the castle, hand in hand.

"You missed," Rane remarked, keeping both her wand and sword at the fore.

" _Expellairmus_!" Bellatrix screamed, and Rane's sword flew from her hand, landing with a clatter. Bellatrix crowed laughter, and when Rane jerked as if to make for it, she struck the sword with a spell, sweeping it with a clang out of reach.

"Didn't miss that time, did I?" Bellatrix said coldly. She regarded Rane for a moment, her wand trained smartly on her. "Perhaps you'd like to join dear Sirius?"

"Don't you DARE say his name!" Rane spat, her temper flaring. A volley of purple sparks shot from her wand.

"I'm happy to reunite you," Bellatrix said. And in a moment, her wand was twirling through the air. She was hideously fast, and Rane, dropping any idea of rebuttal at once, dropped and rolled toward her -

"AVADRA-!"

But Rane was faster this time. She got ineptly to her feet, slamming her full weight into Bellatrix, and aiming her wand blindly shouted, "CRUCIO!" But the spell went wide, soaring off over Bellatrix's shoulder, evaporating into the clouds above them.

Now inches apart, they collided, Bellatrix's wand at Rane's throat, and inches from her face, her eyes twinkling and her breath hot, she said in a strained voice, "Not - quick - _enough_ , little girl -!"

Rane struggled, feeling another spell soar past her face, close enough to sear her cheek red. She thrust her shoulder forward and they fell awkwardly to the stone ground, struggling, both prepared to die or kill at any instant. Rane's lips were peeled back into a fierce snarl, her eyes glittering.

But Bellatrix was strong, and quick, and older, and Rane was on her back before she could react. Shrieking with fury, Bellatrix raked her fingernails down Rane's throat, bringing blood in a blossom, breathing harshly. Her wand was at Rane's throat in an instant.

"Little elf girl doesn't know how to fight without her sword," she gasped, grinning fiercely, jamming her wand into Rane's throat, echoing the words of her husband the night she had murdered Sirius.

Rane, clutching at Bellatrix's robes, her eyes bright and full of malice: "Sure she does."

And in one swift motion she reached into her back pocket, pulled out her grandfather's kukri and plunged it into Bellatrix's throat.

Her expression of taunting triumph faded, became first confused and then angry. A shockingly bright spew of blood ran over Rane's knuckles and jetted between her lips, turning her teeth crimson. Rane shoved her aside, landed straddling her, and leaned in close, her eyes fixed on Bellatrix's, cold and remorseless.

"Dogs get put down," Rane breathed into her face, the tendrils of Bellatrix's hair wavering before her, and pulled her dagger roughly out, rolling away. Bellatrix fell back, clutching at her throat. Rane rose to her feet, her front bright red with Bellatrix's blood, and stood over her, meeting her eyes, framed by the tumultuous sky overhead.

Bellatrix, gargling: "Filth . . . filthy . . . mud . . . bluh . . . bluh . . . !"

"I told you," Rane said softly, "that I would kill you for what you did."

Bellatrix choaked feebly, clutching at her throat, her eyes still as venomous as a viper's, and then her fingers slackened and she lay still.


	67. Rane Gwendolyn Roth

Rane straightened, stuffing her dagger back into her jeans, looking around her. Her wand was drawn and held at the ready, and she was expecting a volley of curses at any second, having just felled one of Voldemort's closest lieutenants, but she needn't have worried; all was chaos, and if any of her fellows had noticed Bellatrix lay dead on the battlefield, they were too preoccupied to avenge her. The Death Eaters and the Order had collided, and the Hogwarts professors were well into the fray, as well as Dumbledore's Army. Rane saw Minerva, Hermione, Kingsley, Arthur and others dueling furiously, their strength renewed now that Harry had reappeared.

Molly Weasley, stumbling against a volley of hexes, came suddenly out of the fray, staggering into Rane. Both she and Rane aimed their wands at one another before sighing in united relief.

"Oh, dear, you gave me a fright!" Molly gasped, patting her chest. Then, abruptly, her eyes falling over Rane's shoulder, her voice rose to a perilous bellow: "GINNY WEASLEY, YOU GET BACK INTO THAT CASTLE THIS INSTANT!"

Rane glanced back. Ginny, who had just cast such an intimidating Reduction curse that a quarter of the bridge had been obliterated in a cloud of dust and rubble, turned and fled into the fray, red hair flying.

" _Oh_ , that girl - did you do her in, Rane?" Molly asked, nodding to Bellatrix's inert form on the ground. "I'd say that looks like something a blade would do . . ."

Rane nodded, winded. "After what she did, I'd have happily done it twice."

Molly nodded, looking at Bellatrix, and then did something Rane would not have foreseen: she kicked Bellatrix's body as hard as she could, grunting, her mouth pulled into a harsh sneer and her red hair flying.

"For Idril," she gasped, panting. "And for Sirius." Then, drawing a breath, she spat, " _bitch_!"

Rane did not have long to admire this display; already curses were flying toward them, and as Molly and Rane dove out of the way and took up the battle, they were again separated. The distant clanging of a sword was distinguishable over the din of battle, meaning her father was still fighting, and bolstered by this Rane made toward the castle, wand and blade flying, hoping for a glimpse of Harry or Wade.

All was chaos. The shadows of great things overhead passed over the fracas in the low light, and glancing up Rane saw the flying figures of thestrals, dipping to slash at Death Eaters, and another, more familiar feathery body - Buckbeak, crying shrilly, divebombing the enemy without remorse -

And now, a new sound was coming to Rane - thundering hoofbeats. As she moved through the crowd, hair flying, she turned her head back toward the Death Eaters -

"ELVES!" a young voice cried behind her, sounding elated. Rane realized it was Ginny Weasley. "IT'S THE ELVES!"

Rane, standing amidst the fray like a woman waist deep in a frantically flowing river, gave a slightly mad laugh, her face transported, staring toward the horde of Death Eaters who were now turning in utter bewilderment to face these new opponents. There was a herd of white horses galloping from the Forbidden Forest, astride which were a dozen blonde figures wielding glistening swords -

"EGLERI'ERU!" Wade Roth's ecstatic voice came from behind her. Turning, Rane saw the flash of his sword in the pre-dawn glow rise from the fray in a triumphant gesture. "EGLERI'ERU!"

Swords and spells flashing, the Death Eaters and the Elves collided, but it was far from a fair fight; Rane watched as several of the enemy collapsed beneath the flying hooves, vanishing as if taken by a riptide. Curses flew from blades, and the braying of Elven steeds was nearly as loud as the fight itself.

And then, suddenly, a roar rang out from the crowd to Rane's left, and a cacophony of voices began to cry, "HE'S ALIVE!"

A cold thread of fear weaving through her, Rane turned and shoved roughly through the crowd toward the calls, which were still rising ("HE'S ALIVE! HARRY'S ALIVE!").

"Harry," she panted, hardly aware of it, flinging spells from her almost casually as she made for him. "Oh God, come _on_ , Harry . . . !"

And then, as she came bursting through the suddenly stilling crowd, she saw Voldemort, wand drawn, in the center of them, his wand held loosely in one pale hand, circling his prey like a tiger. Harry, now unveiled, his Invisibility Cloak thrown aside, stood opposite him. He was bloody, damp with sweat, favoring his left side but still holding his wand aloft, his face cold and quite fearless.

"NO!" Rane screamed, and jerking through the crowd aimed her wand for Voldemort.

"RANE, NO!"

Rane had taken her kukri by the blade and hurled it with all her strength, ignoring Kingsley's hand grasping at her shirt. There was a ripping sound, loud in the silence, as it tore away at her elbow. It whistled through the air, flashing against the torchlight, and the blade struck Voldemort in the shoulder. He reeled, hissing. Rane saw Harry's eyes turn toward her, his eyes widening, surprised -

"FILTHY HALF-BREED GIRL!" Voldemort bellowed, and ripping out the kukri hurled it back toward Rane. It screamed toward her and Rane jerked to the left, shocked; it whickered past her, grazing her neck and leaving a long, bleeding mark. Rane clutched at her neck, panting, staring back at where her dagger had come to rest, embedded hilt-deep in a wooden beam, feet from several shocked-looking students -

"Rane! NO! RANE!" Harry was screaming, suddenly and shockingly desperate.

Rane was still staring back at the kukri when a heavy weight slammed into her midsection. She gasped, at first convinced someone had run full-tilt into her. There was no pain.

The crowd around them gasped, and there were several screams. Harry's was chief among them.

" _RANE_!"

"Foolish boy!" Voldemort was shouting at him, and then the bright green-red glow of a duel lit up the grim pre-dawn bridge, casting everything into sharp contrast.

Rane lifted her wand, aiming it at Voldemort, but it seemed to have become strangely heavy in her grasp. She looked down, meaning only to ensure she had not been bound by some spell, and realized with a shock that there was a broad, cone-shaped mass of stone protruding from her chest.

"RANE!" a voice was crying. Rane thought it might be Molly.

She touched the projectile, shocked by its solidarity, and fell back roughly onto the stone of the bridge. It had stricken her from behind, and the business end, homicidally sharp, was six inches past her white blouse and covered in bright red. Her wand and her sword fell from each hand, the latter clanging onto the stone. Past where she lay, the bright glow of a duel was still visible, glimmering across the stone.

She clutched at the stone, suddenly aware she was short of breath. A flash of fear, sharp and cold, passed through her.

"Varda," she gasped, not knowing why she was speaking that name and not caring. " _Varda_ -!"

 _I am here_ , a voice said, perfectly clear. It was inside her head and all around her, and terribly sad. _Rane Roth, I am here. I am here_.

Rane coughed, and a spray of blood, shockingly vivid, flew from her lips.

"Help him," she gasped. "Help him." And then, with renewed effort, " _Help Harry!_ "

 _I cannot return to you_ , the voice within Rane said, and now there was no mistaking the hitching of that voice: it was weeping, and in earnest. _I cannot return, if I_ -

" _Help_ him!"

 _You will lose all that you are. All that you_ -

Rane, her brows contracting, her lips stained red with her blood: "GOD DAMN YOU, _GO_!"

And then, a curious sensation filled Rane. There was a feeling of emptying, and before her, falling from her mouth and eyes like a silvery mist, a form was beginning to take shape. In the glimmering cloud that took shape before her, a face began to emerge, her mirror image, undulating and sad.

"Rane Roth," it said, and a gentle tendril, as light as a breeze, touched Rane's bloodied cheek, warm and tender. Rane stared up at it, the light reflecting in her eyes. " _Posto vae_."

And then it was gone, and Rane, above the din of the crowd, heard Voldemort's body as it hit the ground, nothing more than a man.

"Rane! RANE!"

A body came flying from the crowd, and then Harry had dropped to his knees beside Rane, his wand clattering from his hand, forgotten. He grasped her hand, leaning over her.

"You're okay," Rane said, and gave him a bright grin. She reached up and touched his face with one hand. "You did it. You got him." She sucked a breath in. "Is everyone else -?"

"Everyone's fine," Harry said, shaking his head. The sounds of running footsteps were audible behind him, and Rane could hear her name being shouted. "Everyone's fine, Rane. Just shut up a minute."

"Oh, dear, oh goodness gracious-" And this was Molly, falling beside Harry. She caught sight of the stone projectile and her eyes filled with tears. She knelt over Rane, touching her cheek. "Does it hurt, dear? Can I do something for you?"

"Doesn't hurt," Rane said honestly. There was no pain, even now as she could feel the warm rush of blood leaving her body beneath her hand. "Not even a little bit."

"Oh, Rane, oh Rane . . . oh my dear one, I just - oh, I just can't - first Fred and now -"

"She's okay," Harry said roughly. and cast a cold glare at Molly. "She's fine, just - Madame Pomfrey," he said abruptly, as if upon sudden inspiration. "Where's-?"

"Harry," said Hermione, who had knelt beside him, touching his arm. Her eyes were bright with tears. "Oh, Harry, just look, she can't have done -"

"SHUT UP! SHE'S OKAY!" Harry shouted, suddenly red-faced. "SOMEONE WILL HELP HER! LOOK, IT ISN'T THAT BAD -!"

"Harry." Rane touched his hand. "Harry, no, it's . . . " She gestured at herself, trying to look humorous. "Listen -"

"Rane! _Rane_!"

And then Wade had come skidding up, spraying gravel, and fallen awkwardly to his knees at Rane's side opposite Harry. He grasped at her face with both hands, his long hair flying. He touched the stone protruding from her chest with trembling fingers, then he lifted a wand toward it.

"Don't," said Molly, eyes streaming, and now she was flanked by Ginny, George and Ron. Ginny was staring at Rane, both hands over her mouth, shaking her head slowly. "Wade - please, don't - you can't help her -"

"GET OFF OF ME!" Wade suddenly bellowed, shaking Molly's gentle hand from his shoulder. And now he was weeping openly, his lower lip trembling. "GET OFF! GET OFF OF HER! LEAVE HER BE! DONT TOUCH HER!"

"Wade." This was Aberforth Dumbledore, who had appeared behind Molly. At his side, Kingsley Shacklebolt stood, shaking his head, his eyes sparkling. "Wade, don't. You'll only hasten it along. Give her a moment. Mayhap she has something to say."

Wade shook his head roughly and bent over Rane, his shoulders shaking. Rane reached out and touched his hand.

"Dad, it's okay," she said. She was shocked at how soft her voice was - she, who had always had something loud to say. "This is okay. Don't cry."

"Girl, you're alright, you're okay," he said, sounding horrifically cheerful. "No biggie, just a little one, you're gonna be -"

"Dad," Rane said softly.

"- just fine, gonna walk on outta here just like always -"

"Dad."

" - not even as bad as -"

" _Dad_."

Wade looked down at her, his lower lip trembling.

"Dad, I've got a fucking javelin through me," Rane said, attempting to grin. "Knock it off."

Wade shook his head so hard his hair flew. "Shut up, Rane, just shut -"

"Dad. Please." And now, feeling her own tears threatening, she touched his hand gently, her voice thick. " _Adar_."

Wade grasped her face in both his hands and placed a kiss on her forehead, shaking and weeping.

" _Mauya nin avánië._ "

Wade seemed to wilt, all his accolades and might melting before the sincerity of his grief. His voice was strained, boylike in its honest terror.

"Oh girl, don't you dare say that to me, didn't I tell you?"

Rane touched his cheek, and he grasped it in one hand, pressing it against his face, his eyes squeezed shut, tears seeping from beneath his eyelashes.

" _Lethio'nin_ ," she said gently. _Let me go._

Wade bent over her, grasping the slowly reddening fabric of the blouse Fleur had lent her, his shoulders heaving. Harry, who had remained where he was, was now weeping too, his face contorted.

"Rane, I'm sorry," he said. In his emotion he looked not seventeen but barely ten. "He threw it, that thing, and I - I couldn't stop him -"

"Shut up, Harry," Rane told him, smirking. She squeezed his hand. A crowd had gathered around them now, and among the faces Rane recognized both Elves and wizards. At the fore, Luna Lovegood stood, clutching at Neville Longbottom, crying silently. "You can knock that shit right off."

"I love you," Harry said, strained, and Rane, for the first time, felt tears of her own falling from her eyes. She squeezed his hand again.

"Love you too," she said quietly. She glanced down at herself, smirking. "Think I done fucked up this time. I don't think that's gonna buff out."

Harry laughed, choked.

Rane pulled in a breath. It was her last.

"Take care of my little girl. And yourself."

Harry nodded, sobbing. Rane touched his face one last time, her fingertips infinitely gentle, and then her hand fell to the ground and her head rolled to one side. The breeze teased the ends of her dark hair, and even in her stillness she was beautiful. Above them, the dawn broke at last, casting its red-gold glow over the dead and the living alike.


	68. Padfoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion

Rane opened her eyes.

"Hermione?" she said.

There was no answer. Rane looked around her, eyes glimmering in the dark. The beds where Ginny and Hermione slept were neatly made - Molly's work, maybe. Not Kreacher's, anyways. He wasn't the bed making sort, even under the best of circumstances.

_Hogwarts_ , Rane thought, slightly disconcerted, _they just went back to Hogwarts, and I'm too sleepy to remember. And maybe I should chill._

Rane rose, stretching, a tall, lean girl with long dark hair, then strode toward the entrance, wand extended. The boards beneath her creaked, but she paid little mind. Who was there to wake? If there were any other Order members here, they'd be tucked away upstairs somewhere, and judging by the spray of stars across the sky outside the window, it was still hours before dawn.

Speaking of the window . . .

Rane peered at it for a moment, eyes squinted, trying to decide what was so strange about it. After a second or two, it came to her; it was shut. Kreacher must have decided to leave it be this evening. He'd gotten into the rather nasty habit of cracking it open while Rane slept, letting in the chilly night air and generally making a full eight hours of decent sleep far more difficult. This sort of mercy was most unlike him.

" _Lumos_ ," she mustered, casting the dim stairs into contrast. Stepping with exaggerated caution, Rane continued down the stairway.

Rane peered over the stair at the base. There was a glass doorway, and beyond, the grim ground of the Black land. One of the doors was standing ajar. Rane could feel the cool breeze of the night air rippling across her bare skin. She strode to the door, pushed it aside and strode out.

There was a figure there, sat in one of the steel chairs. He was slouched, one hand dangling, a cigarette clutched between the first two fingers. A tendril of smoke eased from its tip.

"Sirius?"

Rane had expected her voice to jar him, but Sirius did not start. Instead, he cocked his head to one side so that Rane could see his profile, sharp in her wandlight. Instead, he simply shifted in his seat, his hand moving closer to him.

"Rane," he said, sounding unsurprised. "Come on out. Sit down. And put that out, would you?"

Rane hesitated. Sirius shifted, then looked back, only his profile visible in the low light. She waved her wand, and the bright glow vanished.

"Please," Sirius repeated, gesturing at the chair at his side. "Grab some seat. I'm happy for the company."

Rane did, curling her legs beneath her. Sirius was looking over at her, a curious expression on his face.

"Didn't take you for a smoker."

"I bet you didn't," Sirius replied, sounding amused. He was still looking at her, as if he'd never properly seen her until now. The glimmer of his eyes in the dimness was marked as they flicked over her features. "Want one?"

Rane, who was not looking at him, shrugged. "Fuck it. I'll bite, sail one over here."

Sirius laughed, then lifted his pack, one smoke extended, and pulled it out with his lips.

"Lovely tonight, aren't they?" he said as he lit the cigarette with his wand, waving his free hand toward the sky. A trail of smoke followed behind it, catching on the breeze. "The stars. Sometimes I miss seeing them."

"Well, luckily for you - thanks," said Rane, pausing to accept the cigarette from Sirius's outstretched fingers. "Luckily for you it's a quick fix. All you gotta do is walk outside. Problem solved."

Sirius pointed at a constellation to the West, hanging above the gently undulating trees at the edge of the Black property. Crickets sang, gentle in the silence.

"That one. I really like that one. Think it's my favorite, actually."

Rane shifted her weight, resting her chin on her fist, following his gaze. "That's _Neth'Un_. The cub."

Sirius wasn't looking at the constellation but at Rane, who was uncomfortably aware of the weight of his gaze. She dragged deep, blowing a plume of smoke into the air.

"Go on," said Sirius, sounding lightly chiding. "That's the Big Dipper, or the Little Dipper, or something like that, they were all about this sort of thing in Divination -"

" _Neth'Un_ ," Rane repeated, grinning. "Mind your manners, son, you're in the presence of an Elf and we don't joke about that shit."

"I reckon you lot are a little too serious for my taste, then," Sirius replied, low. Rane snorted.

"I'm only half serious," she reminded him, smirking. "I got my dad's sense of humor, thank god."

She glanced over at him, her eyelashes flashing in the low light, blowing smoke out of the corner of her mouth.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked him bluntly, smiling a little. "Do I have something on my face? Jesus . . ."

Sirius shook his head, his cigarette hand hanging at his side, and crossed his feet before him, slouching. He didn't avert his eyes from hers, and she felt a slight twinge in the pit of her stomach. She always felt that little twinge when he met her gaze, and she had never acknowledged it for what it was until just now. Her cheeks flushed a little.

"I forgot how beautiful you are," said Sirius, sounding quite unabashed.

Rane snorted, shifting, but she could feel the color mounting in her face and hoped the darkness was hiding it. "You see me everyday, your memory must be a little on the crappy side -"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Sirius asked, smirking at her and drawing on his smoke. "Because you _look_ a little uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable."

"Do you remember me?" Sirius asked her abruptly, his smile fading. "At all?"

Rane turned to him, her brow furrowed.

" _What_?"

"Do you?" And now Sirius's face was changing a little, barely perceptible in the starlight. Rane thought he looked anxious.

"What is _with_ you tonight?" Rane asked him bluntly. She scrubbed the cigarette out on the underside of the chair's armrest and flicked it into the undergrowth beyond. "What kind of a _weird_ \- yeah, I mean, I don't _need_ to remember you, Sirius, I've known you for months! Like what do you mean, do I remember you from the meeting last night? I seem to recognize your face, yeah, aren't you the gentleman that owns this whole ass house? Or am I thinking of some other convict?"

Sirius burst out laughing in spite of himself, rolling his head back on his neck and placing the flat of his hand on his forehead. Rane grinned, too, shaking her head.

"Ah, god," said Sirius when the last of his giggles had abated. "God, but I've missed you, Rane. You and that absolute unit of a sense of humor. Good lord."

"I feel like you need to lay off the firewhiskey, it's got you talking like a goddamned lunatic over there."

"Ah, yeah, I should have done," Sirius conceded, still smiling. "Hit it a bit too hard at the end there. We both did. Not so different, were we, toward the last bits? Not so very different, at that."

Rane stared at him, bewildered by this statement, but Sirius was staring toward the skies again, his handsome face illuminated by the dim light. One hand was stroking his stubbly chin.

"But seriously," said Rane, still looking at him. "Are you okay? What's with all the weirdness?"

Sirius looked over at her, his hand stilling on his chin.

"Let me see your hand," he said abruptly.

Rane glanced at his extended palm hesitantly, then placed her own in it. Sirius grasped it firmly, his skin warm and dry, and met her eyes.

"You know," he said. And now, there was a thread of desperation, almost of pleading, in his voice. "I _know_ you know, Rane."

Rane looked at him in silence, frowning, her dark brows knitted, the breeze teasing the ends of her hair gently.

"You _know_. You've _got_ to know. It's _there_."

"Sirius, what -?"

Sirius rose abruptly, his cigarette falling to the patio in a spray of sparks, and bending toward Rane he grasped her face in both of his hands and pressed his mouth into hers. Rane recoiled, shocked, but the feel of his lips on hers, the warm pressure of his flesh, the smell of him, strangely familiar -

Sirius pulled back, kneeling before her, grasping both of her hands tightly in his. He stared up at her, brows contracted, long hair wavering in the breeze.

"Remember me," he said, shaking his head, and Rane was shocked to see tears glittering in his eyes. "Please. _Please remember me_."

Rane stared at him, suddenly breathing more quickly. His eyes . . . she had seen his eyes . . . just like that, once, as she stood in his doorway one night. She had been fired. And she had gone to him, after . . . after they had . . .

"I saw you out here once before," she murmured, still staring at him. It was like trying to grasp at a limber creature dancing just out of her reach, so near that her fingers grazed at it. "I saw you here - one night, we - we . . ."

She shook her head suddenly. "What am I thinking? What _is_ it? I . . . I _almost_ -"

"Want some help?" Sirius asked her.

Rane stared down at him, her lips slightly parted.

"Help -?"

"You met me out here, many years ago," said Sirius. He grasped her hand in both of his own and pressed her fingers to his mouth, kissing her with infinite tenderness. "It was a lot like this, Rane. I kissed you, just like that."

"I've _never_ -"

"We had a long time," said Sirius, overriding her. "A long time. You loved me for the rest of your life. And I've loved you since I left mine. Every moment."

Rane had begun to shake her head, but suddenly a word sprang to her lips, one she didn't recognize right away.

"Idril."

Sirius nodded and kissed her palm, his eyes bright. He stood, releasing her. He looked relieved, almost undone by it.

"Rane, Idril is our daughter."

"Daughter . . .?"

And then, as if floodgates had been flung wide in her mind, Rane remembered him. All of him. The nights they had spent together. Their fights, their embraces, their mornings together. His laughter. His smile. All of it.

Rane suddenly got to her feet, the chair falling with a clatter to the stone walk, and striding to Sirius she placed both hands on his face and kissed him fiercely. He flung his arms around her, moaning, pulling her to him.

"You know me?" he gasped, his mouth pulled down.

"Sirius - oh my god -" Rane stared at him, her hands moving over him, drinking him in. "Sirius - oh, my god, oh my god, you're you're here, you're here - are you here -?"

She was weeping in earnest now, tears flowing down her face. Sirius pressed his mouth into hers again and then embraced her, hugging her body to his, breathing harshly.

"I told you I would wait for you," he said at her shoulder. "I told you I'd wait."

Rane shook her head against him, and now she remembered . . . her father . . . the battle at Hogwarts, and Varda leaving her body to aid Harry . . .

"Oh god," said Rane, and choked out a sob so harsh that it rattled her lean frame. "Oh, fuck. Harry." And then, on the tail of this, her heart seeming to clench on itself: " _Idril_."

She sagged, fell to her knees, and putting both hands over her face began to weep. Sirius knelt before her.

"I left her," she whispered, shaking her head. "I left her. I left our little girl alone."

Sirius pulled her hands gently away from her face, and she stared up at him, her eyes full of tears. He placed a kiss on her forehead and rubbed her chin with his thumb.

"She isn't alone," he said. "Harry has got her now. He'll take care of her. And we won't be far away."

"Harry," Rane moaned, her grief renewed. "I tried to help him, and now he's going to be even more fucked up -"

"Rane," said Sirius, "you gave your life to help him. He won't be fucked up. He's going to be fine." Then, smiling a little: "You know, even dead you really need to watch your mouth."

Rane snorted through her tears, shaking her head. She wiped her cheek with the heels of her hand, looking up at him.

"I really think that I should be able to say 'fuck' after all the shit I've been through the past few years, thanks very much."

"Fine. Say fuck. See if I care."

"You haven't changed much," said Rane, and he smiled down at her again.

"I love you," he said softly. He touched her cheek gently with the tips of his fingers. "I've loved you since the second I met you. And I'd do it all again. No problem."

"Even now?"

"Even now. _Especially_ now, matter of fact."

"It was bad, without you," said Rane suddenly. "It was bad. _So_ bad. Fucking _awful_."

"I know." For the first time, Sirius looked remorseful. "I shouldn't have been so goddamned stupid that night. I shouldn't have left you."

Rane shook her head, smirking. "Is that like an apology or something?"

Sirius shrugged, still looking anxious. "Best I can do, Rane. I dunno that 'sorry' really works after all this."

"You got that right."

A silence fell between them as they stared at one another, as if unable to believe the other was really there.

"Will you stay with me?" Rane asked him.

"Always," said Sirius.

"Where will we go?"

Sirius looked over one shoulder. Rane followed his gaze. Beyond where the Black property had been, a bright golden sphere of light had appeared. The stars wheeled overhead, and through the hazy glow Rane could see nothing. But it was warm, and its light fell over her face, hopeful, making her beautiful.

"Dunno," Sirius admitted, looking back at her. "I've been waiting on you."

Rane got to her feet, and so did Sirius. Together they faced the strange light, fingers laced together.

"We'll find out, I guess," said Sirius. He inclined his head. "Are you ready?"

Rane hesitated only briefly, casting a final glance over her shoulder toward the darkness of Grimmauld Place, where she and Sirius had spent their last years together. Where she had hung the portrait of them over Idril's crib, and sat slender and sad on the sofa for many lonely nights, staring into the night sky and missing him. She had been lost and found there, and now she was lost no longer.

"Will I forget -?"

"None of it. None of them." Sirius tilted her face toward his own, away from the darkness behind them, and kissed the corner of her mouth. The taste of him was as lovely as it had ever been. "We won't be far from them. And we'll see them again."

Rane turned toward the light, and though the brightness, undulating and warm, was great enough to make her squint, she found a smile had touched her mouth.

" _Av'osto_ ," she said softly.

"What's-?"

"Don't be afraid." She took a breath.

"If you're with me, I never will," said Sirius.

Hand in hand, they strode through the Black grounds, the grass rasping at their feet, and soon the light had enveloped them both.


	69. Hereafter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mourning Harry Potter visits Grimmauld Place after the Battle of Hogwarts

The heavy door of Grimmauld Place creaked open, and Harry Potter strode inside, pulling the hood of his cloak down. It shut behind him, closing on a late morning that was already gorgeous. The sunlight was golden and lovely, but inside this house all was as gloomy as ever, and not just because his eyes were still trying to adjust to the sudden dimness within.

The stale, familiar smell of dust and age met his nose. As he always had, Harry found himself wondering why Rane had always loved this place, and how Sirius had managed to stay here month in and month out during the last year of his life without going completely mad. Harry waved his wand as he pulled off his cloak, and the sconces along the corridor popped alight.

It was the tenth of May, a little better than a week since Voldemort had fallen, and Harry had stayed well out of sight of just about everybody. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and occasionally Neville Longbottom were essentially his only contacts. He had taken up semi-permanent residence at the Burrow, taking the same spare bedroom that Rane had occupied after Mad-Eye Moody's death.

Already, just days after the fact, the _Prophet_ was running headline after headline about Harry, who was not interested in making any sort of appearance to accept his accolades. The public was celebrating, but he, Harry, was not. They had not, could not, have known what he had lost that night. Not even those closest to him seemed to understand, though everyone loved to say that they did. He had shut himself off not only from the limelight but from everything.

Ginny had tried, bless her, of _course_ she had, and even she could not quite breach the thick wall he'd erected. She knew, as they all did, why he mourned, why he sought solitude. Or they thought they did. They hadn't understood the relationship Harry had kept with Rane; not even Ron or Hermione did, not fully. But Ginny, always far too intuitive for comfort (and with far too thin of a tolerance for nonsense), had still tried to talk to him about Rane, something no one else had done, not even Molly.

_She_ _wouldn't have wanted you to hide in your room all the time_ , she had told him bluntly one morning, as Harry had trudged upstairs after breakfast. Ginny had placed a firm hand against the door as Harry had tried to shut it, and he looked back at her impatiently. The idea of interacting with any more of the Weasleys at the moment - even Ginny - was an exhausting one.

It had not been like the old days at the Burrow since Harry had moved in. George, once so impish and outspoken, was silent and pallid, barely eating, scarcely speaking. Like Harry, he dragged himself back to seclusion after the meals where he barely touched his food. Fred's absence was horribly palpable, right down to the empty chair beside his twin brother.

Molly broke into sudden, shaking sobs frequently, and Arthur was silent and stone-faced, often hiding behind the Daily _Prophet_ in company and excusing himself frequently. Even Ron, who had begun what should have been exciting preparations for Hermione to come and stay with them, was grim and unsmiling.

_Harry_ , Ginny had repeated. _She wouldn't have wanted it._

_Who?_

_You know who_ _._

_How_ _do_ you _know what she'd have wanted?_ Harry had snapped at Ginny, far more sharply than he had intended.

_I knew her, too_ , Ginny had replied, quite unruffled by his tone.

_Not like I did._

_I knew her, too_ , Ginny repeated steadily. _And_ _she wouldn't have wanted this for you. She'd have come up here and dragged you out herself._

_I don't want to talk about Rane anymore._

These days, Harry felt strangely resentful whenever Rane was mentioned. As if _they_ had known her in any real way, as if _they_ had known her like he, Harry had - it felt like an insult. He could remember feeling the same way about Sirius.

_Well, maybe you_ ought _to talk about her, Harry. Maybe you should start trying._ Ginny hesitated, looking pained, then added, _we talk about Fred. Even mum does. What's the difference? How else will you move on?_

_Ju_ _st_ _drop it, Ginny_.

_No._

_Lo_ _ok, I'm tired. Just leave me alone about Rane._

Harry, already exhausted, attempted to shut the door again, but Ginny threw her weight against it, causing him to stagger back. She stared at him with hard eyes.

_You've been in here for days, Harry -_

_I want to be alone_ , Harry had said for what felt like the millionth time since Voldemort's death. _I just want to be alone._

_Alone from everyone? Even me?_

Harry had stared at her, silent. Ginny had folded her arms, nodding, her gaze growing chilly.

_Fine, Harry, d_ _o whatever you want,_ she had told him, her mouth a thin line in her face. _J_ _ust know that she wouldn't be pleased with you acting this way, if she was here._

_Well, she ISN'T here!_ Harry had retorted, his voice suddenly loud. _She's DEAD! So leave me the hell alone about it_ , _can't you?_

Ginny had gazed at him silently, and after a moment she had shaken her head.

_She'd be disappointed_ , she had said at last. _That's all. After she died to protect you, the least you could do is try a bit harder. It's like you're spitting on her grave, doing this, Harry. Spitting right on her grave._

Harry had recoiled at this, so utterly rocked by it that he could not bring himself to say anything at all. Ginny had given him one last cool glance and turning strode back downstairs. And Harry had gotten to be alone, just like he'd wanted. But it was a cold victory, bitter, and he had wept that night in bed, not for the first time. That evening he had not only missed her desperately, he had also been angry. Angry with Voldemort, angry at Ginny, angry at Rane, but most of all angry with himself for not having done more. For not saving her. Like so many others, he had not been able to save her.

Harry glanced into the kitchen as he strode toward the stair, and with a pang he remembered the evenings she had dined with Harry, Ron and Hermione after the Ministry coup, laughing at their faces as they choked down the fiendishly potent _miruvor_ , flicking balled-up napkins at them after showing them how to make goalposts with their fingers, advising them on their next moves and strategizing.

At the time it had seemed so grim and uncertain, staying here with her, but now Harry felt a warm, wistful sorrow at the memory of those weeks. It had been nice to hear the door open, to listen to the thumping of her boots as she strode into the livingroom with her usual quick cadence ( _She always walks like she's late for something,_ Ron had remarked once, smirking). Sometimes she'd bring back an armful of muggle carryout or a six-pack of beer. Even Hermione had relished those evenings, and some nights, despite the uncertainty and fear and turmoil, they had ended up half-drunk and laughing fit to split. That was Rane, always ready to crack some stupid joke even when things were going to hell just past the doorstep.

Harry swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his jumper, feeling the hitch in his throat. Outside, the birdsong was loud and hectically cheerful. It seemed strange that such a happy sound could exist when he felt like this.

He strode past the grimy table where so many meetings had taken place and pulled open the fridge on a whim. The inside was mostly bare - toward the end, even Harry had noticed Rane had begun to lose weight, clearly due to a diet based mostly on firewhiskey - but a flask of _miruvor_ , glimmering silver, and a plate of half-finished _lembas_ still remained within. Harry looked at these, wondering where Rane had gotten them. Had she brought them back from Ylle Thalas? Had Wade done so for her? Why had he never asked?

Harry considered taking the flask of _miruvor_ and sipping some - perhaps straight from the pitcher, since no one would be finishing it now that its purveyor was gone from the skin of the world - then decided that the idea of tasting something that reminded him of Rane was far too horrifying an idea to entertain. He shut the fridge.

The stairway was silent and musty, and Harry's trainers left footsteps in the dust. Kreacher was at Hogwarts now, which meant Grimmauld Place would fall into disrepair, of course. Maybe that was good. The Black line was ended, save for Idril, and she was safe from the Pureblood mania and vitriol that Sirius had endured as a young man. Harry would make sure of that.

The next floor up was where Sirius's room was, but Harry made a stop in Walburga's old bedroom first. It had once been Buckbeak's abode, then finally Idril's. The walls, once a dingey gray, had been repainted a bright and cheerful blue, and on the far wall stood Idril's crib, crammed with stuffed animals and laden with blankets. One of them was a purple Afghan, clearly handmade and well-loved. Harry took this and folded it over his arm almost unconsciously. There were a few things of Rane's that Harry had considered taking out of Grimmauld Place when he had decided to come here the prior afternoon. This was one of them. The photo was another.

On the windowsill was a small, smooth white ball, and Harry knelt, eyeing it. A small puff of purplish smoke erupted from it, and then a tiny hippogriff, wings flapping, stood there in its place, snorting and squeaking. In another moment, the ball reappeared, rocking slightly.

"Christmas gift," Harry muttered, and the sound of his voice, so loud in the silence made him jump. Idril had received this ball the same morning Rane had received the photo of herself and Sirius, which she had eyed sickly before stuffing it out of sight. Harry, too, had always hated to see Sirius's face in posthumous photos.

Two doors down was Sirius's old room, although Harry had come to think of it as both his and Rane's now (Rane, who had thought of it as Sirius's up until her dying day, would undoubtedly have found this dichotomy amusing). Harry pushed the creaking door open, revealing the ancient decor mounted by teenaged Sirius: posters of motorcycles, scantily clad muggle women, faded Gryffindor emblems.

The photo of Sirius, James, Peter and Remus during their time at Hogwarts was still thumbtacked to the wall, and Harry inspected it for a moment. Every single person in that photo was dead. Remus, for barely a week; Peter, perhaps two; Sirius, better than three years, and James - well, all of Harry's life, _sans_ a single year that he could not remember.

Harry turned from the wall and sat down on the bed, dropping the purple afghan beside him. There was the gentle crack of glass, and Harry started, shifting and pulling the sheets away.

There was a framed photo there, facedown. He'd sat right on top of it. He took it, turning it over and resettling on the bed he held it in his lap, looking down at it.

The glass had cracked - a star of fissures had appeared in one corner - but Harry hardly noticed. It was the photo of Rane and Sirius. Why it was here, buried beneath the sheets, suddenly came to Harry in a sick rush; Rane had slept in this bed. She'd kept it here with her, perhaps fallen asleep clutching it. And on the morning that Dobby had roused her, she must have thrown off the sheets and left, unknowingly for the last time, burying it from view.

For a very long moment, he simply stared down at them, transfixed. They stood on the veranda of Grimmauld Place, the trees bare behind them and a pale, wintry morning sky wheeling above. Sirius, clad in a loose white top, the hilt of his wand visible in his belt, was laughing, his long hair wavering in the breeze, unshaven and handsome. Rane stood at his side, back-to, spinning on Sirius's proferred hand. She was wearing a long gray sweatshirt and she looked slender and beautiful, tendrils of her dark hair whirling around her head, her free hand clutching a steaming mug, her face split into a bright, sunny grin. As Harry watched, Sirius pulled her to him and put his arms around her, still laughing.

Harry pulled off his glasses and threw them down, swiping at his eyes, but it was no good; Rane and Sirius were doubling and trebling before him. He placed the photo aside, leaned over his knees, clutching his midsection with both arms, and burst into harsh sobs, his shoulders shaking. The loss of her had come upon him suddenly, shockingly . . . she would not be coming back. He would never speak to her again, or wake up to her owls. He would never see her again. She was utterly gone from him, gone to where he could not follow.

"I'm sorry, Rane," Harry murmured, his voice thick and hitching. He swiped at his face with the heels of his hands and ran his fingers through his untidy hair. "I'm sorry I couldn't stop it." Then, his voice cracking: "I _miss_ you _so much_."

The world continued to turn without Rane Roth, impossible as it seemed that anything could go on in the face of such a thing, and Harry Potter wept for her on her bed, rocking gently like a child, though there was no longer anyone in this grim house to hear his tears.


	70. Eulogy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Wade discuss Idril's future

"Harry Potter."

Harry, who had been standing in one of the many maze-like corridors of Ylle Thalas and facing the opposite direction, jumped as if goosed. Before him, her hands clasped primly, was a woman of such breathtaking beauty that for a moment he could only stare at her, open-mouthed, words utterly failing him. She was tall, slender and blue-eyed, with long blond hair and high cheekbones. She wore a ring on her finger inlaid with a series of shimmering white gemstones, and she was wrapped in a shawl made of some sort of billowy, silk-like material. Strange designs, some of them clearly words in a strange runic language, wove in and out of the border. Harry remembered the word for written Elvish, something Hermione had found in one of her endless books - _tengwar_. At her belt, sheathed, was a curved sword, so long its tip nearly brushed the ground.

"You are Harry Potter, are you not?" the woman repeated after a moment.

"Er - yes." Harry shook his head, still gaping at her. "Sorry, you startled me. I'm a bit lost."

"I am relieved that my sentinels allowed you passage," the woman told him. Her voice was neither friendly nor unkind. "Have you come to speak to _Undunai_?"

Harry had never heard this word before. "Er - no, I've actually come to see Wade. Wade Roth?"

"Wade Roth."

"I thought he might be here," Harry went on, feeling quite out of his element. "Is - is he not here? I haven't been able to contact him, I wasn't sure . . ."

He trailed off uncertainly. The woman looked at him for a moment, then suddenly dropped her eyes, shaking her head. One slender hand touched her temple briefly.

"I am sorry," she remarked, and gave a small, rather unhappy laugh. "I am not feeling myself this evening."

She lifted her head, and with an odd, rather decorous squaring of her shoulders, she said, "My name is Iliwynn Talaeos. I am _Ta_ _rï_ of Ylle Thalas, though this war has placed much of Elyfalume under my leadership, as well. I am guardian of those of the Eldar who survived, and mourner of those who did not." Then, aside, as if to herself: " _Y_ _éni ve lintë yuldar avánier_ , that the young should perish and the old linger so. _Ai_."

Harry remained where he was, watching Iliwynn, silent. She spoke in a curious way, weaving in and out of Elvish and English, her voice low and mournful. It was as if she were so distracted that she hardly knew he was here at all. He was all too familiar with the sensation.

"Er - Miss Talaeos? Iliwynn?"

Iliwynn, who had been staring off over Harry's shoulder, met his eyes once more, seeming to suddenly remember herself. A cramp of guilt passed over her lovely face.

"Forgive me," she said softly. "My kind do not take gently to death. We . . . suffer. It makes us ungainly. And much blood has been spilt, these long months. Many friends lost."

Harry, who understood losing friends, nodded.

"You seek Wade Roth," Iliwynn said. She had straightened once more, but there was still something oddly diminished about the shrug of her shoulders, as if they'd been broken and some of the grace had gone away from her. "You will find him here, further down. He tends the _rokkö_ these evenings, in his solace." Then, seeing Harry's confused expression, she shook her head gently, shutting her eyes for a moment. " _Horses_. He tends the _horses_."

"His solace?"

"Yes." Iliwynn's face cramped again, and Harry realized abruptly that she was in tremendous pain and that this sedate facade was being laid in place, shakily, for his sole benefit. "Do you understand solace, Harry Potter? Is . . . is the word correct?"

"Yes. I understand." He paused. "Is it - ?"

"He grieves for his only child, whose body lies in my citadel awaiting her pyre before Iluvatar," said Iliwynn. And then, as Harry opened his mouth, she held up one hand, gentle but firm. When she met his eyes, they were bright with tears, and her mouth trembled a little in the low evening light, breaking her absurd beauty and making her seem suddenly infirm.

"Please," she said softly, "I cannot hear her name, Harry Potter. For me, the grief is still too near, and I must remain strong for my kinsmen. So take pity and speak it not."

Harry nodded. Iliwynn stared into his eyes a moment, her mouth still curled down at the corners, as if inches from weeping, then turned and swept a hand toward a far stairway, her long hair rippling in the evening light, her brows knit as if desperately trying to reclaim her businesslike manner before the young wizard who stood there.

"That is your path," she said. She turned halfway, cast him a pained smile. "You will find what you seek further on, where the horses graze."

Harry followed her finger, feeling a sinking dismay. The fields beneath the corridor they stood upon were broad, easily acres across, stretching to the distant treeline.

"Seek out the black mare," said Iliwynn, sensing his hesitation. "She is called Gronn, the only one of her ilk and line, a beast of a Westernmore land who clearly bears no blood of Elyfalume. Call her on. She will be fain to lead you hence should you lose your way."

"I just . . . call her _name_?" Harry felt bewildered at these esoteric instructions.

"Yes. She will take you to him. Seldom do they stray apart these past nights."

Iliwynn started away, then glanced back at Harry, her eyes bright and suddenly fierce over her shoulder.

"For killing him," she said softly, "I give you my thanks. You have avenged many of my friends"

"He killed a lot of my friends, too," said Harry before he could stop himself. "Lots of them. My parents. My godfather. And . . . and her. I tried to stop him, but he was too fast."

Harry looked at her in silence, her blue on his green. He felt the familiar tug of guilt at the base of his throat, followed by the inevitable image of Rane, lying on the stone, blood seeping through her fingers and smiling up at him, trying to reassure him even as she lay dying . . .

"I tried to stop him hurting her," he finished, feeling awkward. "I couldn't, though. I'm sorry."

Iliwynn pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, her tenuous composure at last beginning to fail.

"Oh, _Elbereth,_ " she whispered. "Would that I could tell you how she felt for you. Harbor no guilt, for she loved you, Harry Potter, as her own."

Harry snorted.

"Do you doubt it?"

"I dunno that I was that big of a deal to her," he admitted, realizing with a jolt that he was confiding in a stranger an insecurity that he had not even been able to admit to himself until now. "I rode in on Sirius's coattails, that was all."

"She bequeathed her child to you."

"After Sirius asked her to, yeah."

"You do her a disservice to speak of her so when you know better."

Harry hesitated, looking at Iliwynn in silence.

"You were hers, Harry Potter, as much in life as in death. Stain it not with your doubt." A sad smile touched her mouth, and she added, "Would that she could hear you speak so. She would chastise you, would she not? Would she not set you on with a word, or a few?"

Harry smiled wanly. "I reckon she would, yeah. Probably more than a few."

"You will keep Idril, as she wished?"

"Yeah. 'Course. That's what they wanted."

"And keep her close, I hope. She is well loved by my kinsmen and me, and we would wish her a life befitting of such a gentle soul."

Her voice was kind, but there was a steely note beneath it now, not threatening but bearing the _threat_ of a threat, the way a cat's purr might turn into a growl for the merest of moments.

"I'd never let anything happen to her," said Harry, feeling a touch reticent beneath that gaze. Voldemort had not frightened him, not even as Harry had stood before him in the Forbidden Forest seconds from death, but this woman did. Her gaze was blackmail on his heart. He supposed anyone would feel the same way when meeting her. "Not on my life."

Iliwynn regarded him for a moment, wringing her hands. Unsmiling, she said, "Truly, then, you are the man she believed you to be."

Harry felt his throat thicken, and he cleared it, averting his eyes. Iliwynn watched him for another moment, then, once again, she gestured over Harry's shoulder.

"Onward, Harry Potter, should you wish to see Wade Roth, he that we call _Undunai_ ," she said gently. "While the sun still lies on the earth. When the stars rise, he grieves in earnest, and I suspect then that he will suffer you no longer."

"Why d'you call him that?" Harry asked her abruptly.

Iliwynn smiled. "A jest, though only a gentle one, my friend, fret not. It comes from his veriest childhood, before Men came to this land, many years behind us. Given to him by his father, Orris of Valynor, kinsman of your Idril."

"What's it mean?" Harry asked.

"In your tongue, Harry Potter, it means 'disruptive son,' for he laughed and balked during his lessons. Ever was he so." She paused, her smile suddenly distant, then said, "for all her follies, how like _Undunai_ she was. How very like him."

She fell silent, her eyes drifting past Harry again, her mouth turning down. After a moment, she glanced at him, as if suddenly remembering he was there.

"We were well met, and we shall meet again, should Idril become yours."

"She will," said Harry, surprised by the steadiness of his voice.

"I take my leave. In the night, we mourn for those who were lost to us."

"For how long?"

"Until the wound has closed," said Iliwynn simply. "I suspect you understand."

Harry did. He nodded.

Ilywinn cast him a wan smile, and then she turned in a whirl of blond hair and was gone. Harry watched her glide out of sight, the sound of her footsteps as quiet as a breeze.

THE grazing plains were even more vast and unnegotiable up close, as Harry discovered some five minutes later as he stood at the threshold. The stone path simply ended, becoming first dirt and then tall grass, lit in the growing dusk only by the fairy-lights of Ylle Thalas above and a few torches, flickering heartily, at every sixty or seventy feet along the perimeter, which was comprised of a low wooden fence, plenty short enough for any pony to breast without much effort. Though it had been possible to stake out the land from above, if only just, now that Harry was facing it he realized that his hesitancy had been justified. All he could see before him was tall grass, undulating in the low breeze, fragrant and rather lovely. Above, ravens cried as they flew past, their black wings stark against the red-purple sky. Crickets had begun to sing, and the grass ahead was punctuated by the occasional flicker of fireflies, gentle and warm.

Harry pulled his wand, meaning to light his way, but hesitated. _Gronn_ , Iliwynn had said.

"Gronn," he said, then cleared his throat and tried a little louder: " _Gronn_!"

Nothing happened. Harry waited for a full thirty seconds, counting under his breath, but the only sound was the scree of nighttime insects rising to their late crescendo in the forest beyond. Sighing, he raised his wand again.

" _Lum_ \- BLIMEY!"

Harry stumbled backwards, arms pinwheeling, and nearly went onto his ass. Directly before him, a horse had appeared, ears flipped mildly toward him, not at all fazed by his near-fall. She was sleek, lean and perfectly black from stem to stern (or what Harry could see, anyway, which was about a quarter of her, stood halfway concealed by the tall grass). A long, silky black mane cascaded over her broad forehead, beneath which a pair of gentle brown eyes shone, watching him with calm interest. She had approached in utter silence; he had not even heard her hooves.

"Blimey," Harry repeated. The horse. continued to watch him curiously, ears swiveling, quite calm. Harry stuffed his wand into his jeans, brushing himself off.

"Gronn," he said.

The horse tossed her head, snorting. Harry laughed a little in spite of himself, rather enchanted. When was the last time he'd been this near to a horse? Surely not since he was a boy, crammed into the back seat of a trip with the Dursleys to a petting zoo, perhaps. Centaurs, thestrals, hippogriffs, sure, but a _horse_?

He reached a hand out tentatively, and to Harry's surprise the mare took a clopping step toward him, her hooves thudding in the soft earth, and placed her nose into his palm, warm and soft. Harry laughed again.

"I need to find Wade," Harry said, feeling only slightly absurd - he had done far stranger things over the last eight years than ask a horse for directions. "Can you take me to him?"

The mare snorted, and turning began to thump off into the tall, waving grass. Harry followed her flicking tail.

It wasn't as far as Harry had feared; Wade was only some fifty feet past the stone path's end. The grass cleared a little, shortening, and past Gronn's withers Harry could see other horses grazing nearby. On the far end of the clearing was a stone wall, short and clearly ancient, strung with vines that bloomed with fragrant white blossoms.

On the wall, sitting cross-legged in a heartbreakingly familiar pose, was Wade Roth. He was clad in jeans, a chambray shirt and ancient, dusty boots, and a long blade of grass depended from his mouth. He looked like nothing so much as a cowboy to Harry. All he was missing was the ten-gallon hat.

Gronn, her task completed, broke into a trot, head tossing, and joined her fellows at pasture, leaving Harry to stand awkwardly at the head of the meadow.

"Come on over here, son, I knew you'd show up eventually," said Wade without glancing up. Harry started a little. He was never going to get used to that Elven acuity.

He obliged, approaching Wade in the growing dusk. The fireflies were out in full force now, their wan glow flashing all around. The crickets had reached their crescendo, so loud now that Harry could barely hear the soft padding of his trainers through the grass.

"Hello, sir," he said as he approached. "I hope I'm not intruding."

Wade pulled the blade of grass from between his teeth and flicked it away. He had still not looked at Harry; his eyes remained on the horses further on, his long blonde hair wavering before his face in the gentle breeze.

"What can I do you for, Harry?"

Harry hesitated. "I . . . well, I just . . ."

The honest answer, he realized, was that he had just wanted to talk to someone about Rane, someone who had known her well. It had been one thing with Ginny and Hermione and Ron and even Molly and Arthur, all of whom had lots of platitudes to offer him, but he had felt in the depths of his heart that this was simply not enough. They had known Sirius, yes, and even Tonks and Remus, and they had offered their condolences for all three over the past few weeks, but Rane . . .

Wade was looking at Harry, his blue eyes bloodshot but acute. He patted his hand on the stone of the wall.

"Grab some seat, huh? I know what you're doing here. I don't know why I bothered asking." Then, when Harry hesitated, looking inept, he slapped the stone again, more insistently. "Come on, plant your ass. The night is young. Mayhap we got a few words to trade."

Harry hopped onto the wall, settling himself at Wade's side. Wade clapped him on the back obligingly, then turned, reaching behind him. A moment later he produced two bottles of amber beer. He popped the cap off of one on the edge of the wall and offered it to Harry.

"It's an IPA," he said, looking amused at Harry's reticence. "Butterbeer may as well be ginger ale, buddy. Go on. Life is short, as we all well know."

Harry took the bottle. Wade popped the cap off of his own, slamming the flat of his hand into the lid and sending it flying. He took a long draught, sighed roughly, and leaned back on his elbow.

"How'd you know I was hanging out down here?"

Harry, who had gulped a mouthful of beer, said thickly, "Iliwynn told me."

"Oh?" Wade tilted his beer in the direction of Ylle Thalas. "A fine lady, that one, but she sure ain't much for company right now. Damn near as depressed as I am."

"She said I should call Gronn," Harry went on, and took another long draught of beer.

"You want to take it easy on that," Wade remarked, eyeing his half-empty bottle wryly. "'Less you want to end the night with a lampshade on your head."

Harry, who had been drinking in secret since Voldemort's fall, snorted. "I'll keep it in mind."

Wade grinned, shaking his head, and tossed back some of his own. Harry settled back on his haunches, feeling a little more relaxed. Across from them, the horses grazed benignly, their tails flicking. Gronn's black coat was striking among the gray and white of her fellows. She was remarkably smaller, too.

"What sort of horse is she?" Harry asked, tilting his beer toward her. "She's the only black one."

"Yeah, she's not an Elvish horse," Wade agreed, following his gaze. "She's from west Texas, matter of fact. A little gift from me to my kiddo, back when she was a wee thing. Iliwynn still insisted she should be given a proper Elvish name, though, and Rane was nigh on maybe ten but she still did, the cheeky little shit."

"She was Rane's horse?" said Harry.

Wade nodded. "That horse would have followed her right into hell if Rane had asked her to. Poor old Gronn, she's a sweet thing but she's about as bright as a burnt out lightbulb. I don't think she even realizes what happened yet, and I don't look forward to the day when she does."

Harry did not want to breach this subject yet. "What does her name mean?"

Wade grinned, his beer held before his lips.

"Fat."

"Sorry?" Harry was smirking in spite of himself.

"Oh, you heard me right," said Wade, and laughed. "Rane was supposed to name her something nice in Quenya, because that's what we Elves do when we're given one of the _Mearas_ \- see that one?"

He was pointing toward a tall, handsome chestnut stallion some ways off.

"That's Bathor. He's mine, since about a decade before your parents died. I called him Bathor because it means, 'to trample your foes,' and I thought that sounded pretty badass. Rane, now . . . naming her horse 'fat' was the height of hilarity for her. She laughed about it fit to split." He snorted. "What a little smartass."

Harry was chuckling too, holding his beer in both hands and gazing at the horses. A moment of pregnant silence passed.

"How you holding up with all this?" asked Wade at length.

Harry understood that the subject of Rane was not on the table yet, and did not object. "A lot of my friends are gone. Fred . . . Professor Lupin and Tonks . . ."

"Ah, gods, Remus," said Wade. "What a fucking travesty. Young dad, and all."

"Did you know him for very long?"

Wade barked a cynical laugh. "Oh, man. If we're gonna talk about _that_ type of shit, I need another beer, and so do you."

He reached behind him and produced another pair of bottles; this time he popped both caps off at once and offered one to Harry, who took it, grinning.

"Neat trick."

"Yeah, you won't learn that one at Hogwarts. That comes straight from the Virginia School of Hard Knocks, my friend."

"You were talking about Professor Lupin."

"I sure was, at that." Wade threw back a mouthful of beer, his long hair catching the setting sun. "I bet he'd laugh if he could hear you talking about him like that, though. I don't believe that I ever heard him calling himself a professor, even when the silly bastard _was_ one."

"When did you meet him?"

Wade rolled back on his elbows. "Oh, man. I think when I met him the first time he was a seventh year at Hogwarts. I was in and out on Albus's orders, gods rest his soul, and I happened on him one afternoon on the grounds, all dirty and disheveled and looking like hell. Right after a full moon," he added, casting Harry a meaningful look. "He seemed like a nice enough guy, and we ended up in the Order together during the First War. Tonks came later, mind you, being so young. If she was more than Rane's age, I'll eat my hat. Goddam shame."

"Did you know Sirius?" Harry pressed, fascinated by this turn.

"Oh, yeah, the resident peacock," said Wade, smirking. Beyond, one of the horses gave a happy whinny. "He knew exactly how good looking he was and so did every woman we ever inducted into the Order. He blew through 'em like bullet holes, pardon the expression. No wonder my daughter fell for him. And I knew them, too, yeah," Wade added as Harry opened his mouth. "James and Lily were a good couple of folks. It broke me right in half when they died, just a little bit older than you are now."

"Rane said that you took a week off work."

Wade sipped his beer, but his smile had faded. "I surely did. I was torn up. They shouldn't have gone the way they did, and I'm sorry you had to bear it. I loved those two, damned if I didn't. And Elves don't do death well."

A silence fell before them, broken only by the whickering of horses and the scree of the crickets in the grass.

"You wanna break into it?" Wade said at last, sounding tired. "I know she's on our minds, but my nerve isn't what it usually is."

Harry hesitated, feeling his stomach tighten. He took another long draught of beer, though it brought him no comfort.

"I dunno why I came," he said at last. "I guess . . . I guess everyone has been telling me that they know how I feel. That they knew her too. But nobody did, not like me. I feel like I'm all alone. And even Iliwynn wouldn't say her name. _Rane_!" He spat suddenly. "Her name was _Rane_! Why can't anyone _say_ it?

Wade rubbed his unshaven chin. "Everybody knew her in a different way, Harry. Nobody had a trademark on her. We all handle this sort of thing differently."

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "The people telling me I should move on, that I should get past it . . . they didn't _know_ her. It's not just . . . just _that easy._ " He glanced desperately at Wade. "D'you know what I mean?"

Wade plucked a blade of grass and chucked it hence, nodding.

"She was like a . . . a . . ."

"She was like a mom to you," Wade supplied, ignoring Harry's abashed expression. "It was by design, my man. Because she saw you as her kid, from the moment Sirius died right up until the very second she left us. You'd have to be blind or a fool not to see it, and Harry, you're neither one."

Harry leaned back, his beer held loosely in his hand, feeling his lower lip trying to tremble.

"I should have stopped it," he said at last, an adage that was becoming old.

"Ah hell, that was the most powerful dark wizard since Grindelwald," said Wade wanly, shaking his head. "He blew through us like we were bowling pins, you saw it. Rane was an Auror and an Elf, and it didn't make a tick of difference. You did all you could."

"But I could have helped her -"

"Harry, I'm a goddamned _maethor_ of Elyfalume and I'm telling you, there was _nothing_ that any of us could have done." He hesitated, looking pained, then added, "You wanna know the medical truth of the thing? That rock that Voldemort threw at her, that big ol' thing that was about the same girth as a baseball bat? It went right throught her heart. I've seen a lot of death during wartime in my day, and gods help me, there ain't no magic nor medicine that can fill that sort of hole. Best medical help in the world would have only given her another few minutes - I know, I checked. So, Harry, it _wasn't your fault_. Not even a little. And I won't waste another breath of my life trying to convince you otherwise. Okay?"

Harry was silent, staring at him in horror.

"She said she was immortal," he said at last.

"We never knew for sure, her mama being what she is," Wade remarked, and sighed. He leaned forward, clutching his beer in both hands and dangling it between his knees, looking at Harry pensively. "I'll tell you something, Harry, I think I almost figured it out that night. And I wonder if you might not know something about it too."

"What do you mean?"

Wade was silent for a long moment, staring down at his beer. Beyond, a horse whinnied.

"I think that prophecy was right on the money, and Rane had one of the _Ainur_ in her. I think she _was_ immortal, but once she was hurt, she . . . she sent it away from her. To help you."

Harry was shaken, suddenly, by a memory he had forgotten in the madness of that night: as he had dueled Voldemort, he had felt a fleeting presence of strength, unprecedented, flowing past him, _fortifying_ him, and that had been the moment when Voldemort's curse had rebounded.

"I believe that was her reason for being. To help you get rid of him. I think . . . that was what the prophecy meant all along. And if that's the case, then she gave up her life to make sure you got to keep yours. And I think that was pretty much how my girl was. I think it fits."

He threw back the rest of his beer, then abruptly chucked the empty bottle toward the far fence. It flew end over end and smashed into a post, shattering. One of the horses nearby started, ears flattening, and trotted off.

"I tell you what, Harry, I'm not holding it together so good these days," he remarked, his voice suddenly choked. He pulled a hand down over his face and gave a rough sigh. "I'm talking a big game over here, but you better believe I'm not thinking the same thing you are. About how I should have been there, right by her side. Should have been there. Instead I was off dueling some asshole while my little girl . . ."

He buried his eyes in one hand momentarily, falling silent.

"Ah, god, I just can't believe she's gone," he said thickly. "I just can't fuckin' believe it."

Harry hesitated, then reached out and placed a hand on Wade's shoulder. Wade sighed again, then straightened, groaning. His eyes were red. The sky had deepened to a purplish indigo hue, bruised and lovely and shot through with pink-orange clouds. The first stars twinkled among them.

"I gotta talk to you about something," said Wade suddenly, looking over at Harry. "While I've still got it in me. The nights are . . . pretty bad for me, just now. When it seems the closest. Can't sleep for the life of me. Just nightmares."

Harry empathized. He nodded.

"Rane left a will at Grimmauld Place. Mundungus was the one who found it, of all people."

"Probably trying to see if she'd left anything valuable," Harry murmured, suddenly angry. "He did the same bloody thing after Sirius died, I caught him nicking his silver."

"Well, Rane didn't keep much, so he was shit outta luck," said Wade. "He played it off like he'd just stumbled on it, handed it over to Kingsley nice and polite. I'll have a few choice words for him if we happen to bump into each other."

He glared across the darkening field for a moment, then pressed on.

"She left you pretty much everything. Idril gets the gold and that purple Afghan her mom made her."

"Does her mum know?" Harry asked abruptly. He had not even considered the rest of Rane's family. The idea made him slightly ill.

"Yeah, I told her," said Wade, his voice low. "She was on her ass drunk when I called and less than sympathetic, said that Rane must have been getting mixed up in things she shouldn't have if she'd been murdered. I had some words with her, but it wasn't worth arguing. One good thing out of this, I guess - I can finally delete that woman's number. Far as I'm concerned, Rane didn't have a mother at all. She had me, though, and I did a good job, I think."

He sighed again.

"Anyway, Idril is yours now," he said at length. "She stressed it pretty hard. I dunno if she told you that you were Idril's godfather, and I hope it isn't too much of a shock -"

"I knew," said Harry. "So . . . so what happens now? When do I . . .?"

He hesitated, feeling a surge of shame. He had hardly thought of Idril during all this.

"She's having a rough time," Wade said, intuiting Harry's next question accurately. "She ought to be too little to understand she's an orphan, but she does anyway. Smart as the devil. She's been crying a lot, just like her grandpa. Asking for her mama, clinging to me like a spider monkey, too. If I had my druthers, Harry, I'd give her a few months to settle down. I dunno that I can bear to part with her just yet, in any case."

Harry nodded. It seemed like a fair enough trade; he could hardly bring up a little girl while he was crammed into the Weasleys' attic room with all his earthly possessions.

"What are you gonna do, Harry? I know that seems like a loaded question, but given that you're gonna be looking after my granddaughter, I think I'm justified."

"I want to become an Auror," said Harry at once. "Like . . . like her. And you."

"Well, lucky for you, I can help you with that," said Wade. "The trials are tough but you'll pull through 'em. Happy to put in a good word for you back at the office, once things get back to normal. Kinsley's angling for the Minister position and I think he'll get it. If he does, that makes me head of the Auror department. You'll be golden."

"I'd appreciate it," said Harry honestly.

"Are you gonna go back to Grimmauld Place?"

Harry shook his head. "I dunno if I can," he said honestly. "She's everywhere in that place. Even smells like her."

"Yeah, I'm with you. I'll go to hell before I go back to that house. Not yet, anyway."

"I'm staying with the Weasleys for now," Harry went on, "but I think I'll find a flat instead. In London, somewhere, so she can be close to where her dad grew up."

"And her granddad," Wade put in, smirking a little. "If you think I'm not gonna spoil that child rotten til the cows come home, I've got news."

"What will _you_ do?" Harry asked him.

Wade sighed, rubbing his chin again. "Mourn my daughter, first and foremost. Then . . . well, I suppose I'll have to start moving on. Getting back into the swing of things."

"Will you stay here, in Ylle Thalas?"

"Here and the Ministry, yeah. We need rebuilding here, we got hit hard. A lot of Elves died in the battle. And the Ministry is just . . . well . . ."

"A shitshow," Harry supplied, using a word Rane had favored. Wade laughed.

"Yeah, but maybe not for a whole lot longer. We got rid of the worst bits, that's what's important. Beyond that, I dunno. Focus on the little lady, I suppose. Harry, I know you're hurting for Rane, so I know you understand when I say, I honestly don't know what to do. I'm lost as hell. Feeling my way inch by inch. If I tried to do it any other way, I believe I'd go out of my mind. That girl was everything to me."

His voice broke on the last word, and he cleared his throat roughly. An owl hooted somewhere nearby. The stars shone above now, along with a full moon that would plague Remus Lupin no more.

"She's gonna be burned," Wade said. "Night after next, if you want to come back out. She didn't want a funeral, she said so in her will - said we ought to just go grab a couple beers and send her off that way instead, which is just what I'm doing, as you can see. But I won't put her in the ground. I think she'd understand."

Harry nodded, his glasses flashing. "I'd like that. If you wouldn't mind the company."

"I'd be grateful for any company besides Gronn and Bathor, honestly." Wade looked up at the sky, which was rich with stars now. "Think it's time for you to be getting on, Harry."

Harry got to his feet, then turned and extended his hand toward Wade. Wade ignored this and pulled him into a firm one-armed hug, surprising Harry. He smelled like horses and beer, a not-unpleasant combination that reminded Harry heartbreakingly of Rane.

"We're pretty much family now, and family don't shake hands," said Wade gruffly. He pulled back and gave Harry a small smile that did not quote conceal the sparkle in his eyes. "Safe travels and well met, til next time."

"Thank you sir," said Harry. He turned once again, pulling his wand and meaning to Disapparate, but Wade called him back one last time.

"Harry."

Harry turned.

"You made her happy," he said. "For that, I thank you."

Harry felt his throat clench painfully. He nodded, pursing his lips. Wade nodded back to him. And then, in a rush of wind that blew the long grass back, he was gone.


End file.
